FRENCHES  STANDARD  DRAMA 

THE    ACTiNC;    EDITION. 

No.  CLXXVII. 


-o- 


lA  N  G  E  L  O  ; 


ACTRESS  OF  PADUA. 


A  ri.AY,  IN  FOUR  ACTS. 


t^TERED    AND    TRANSLATED    FUOM    THE    FRENCH    BY 


G.  A  BECKETT, 
II 


TO  WHICH   ARE  ADDEO 

A  D«tcripHon  of  the  Costume— Cast  of  t'jc  Characters — Entrances  and  EiK»-« 

Relttive  Positions  of  the  Performers  on  the  Stage,  and 

the  whvle  of  the  Stage  Business. 


AS    PERFORMED    AT    THE    PRIXCIPAL 

ENGLISH  AND  AMERICAN  THEATRES. 


NEW    YORK: 
SAMUEL      FRENCH, 

122  Nassau  Street,  (Up  Stairs.) 


CAST  OF  CHARACTER?.— [AcxnKss  op  Papu^.] 

Bowery,  1852.  Barton's,  1857. 

IloMonEi.  -     -     -     -  Mr.  E.  Eddy.    Mr.  Boniface. 

Skj.  G.\udaguixi,     -  "     Martin.  

Sio.  Bi-.RZoxizi.  -  "    Jordan.  , 

LoRKPAXo,     -     -     -        '    /(."dains.      •'  AVarwick. 

Axgi;lo  Mai.pieri,  "    E.  L.  Tilion  "  C.  Fi.sliC". 

lloDOLFO,  -     -     -     -  "  C.AV.Ciarke  "  Bri;iigs. 

Anafesto,      -     -     -  "    Jlaniilton.    "  Mac  Rae. 

First  Priest,     -     -  "    Waireii.  

.Second  Priest,  -     -  "    Gouldson.  

(>Fi-icER,    -     -     -     -  "    Favour. • 

Pa(;e, Mis.s  Hart,  

First  Watchman,  -  Mr.  Smith.         "  Bishop. 

Thisbe,  (the  Actress,)  Miss  Weniy.ss.  Miss  C.Cashnipu. 
CATiiEai.NE,    -     -     -     Mrs.  .Jordan.       "     S.  Der.ni'.. 
Rkgi.nella,    -     -     -      "     Walcot.        "     Miller. 
Uafxe,       -     .     -     -     Miss  Hiftert.     Mrs.  Scvmonr. 


COSTUME. 


ANOELO.— Rich  .shirt— robe— )i at  and  foathois. 

RODOLFO. — Handsome  shirt— hat — white   feathers- 
hoots,  &o.. 

AN.AFESTO.— Ibid. 

GAUDAGUINI.  )  „      ,  T-  ,     * 

BERZ0\1/I        \  "'^"*i'^<'"^®  shirts,  &c. 

HOMODEI. — A  plain  shirt — dark  tights — .shoes,  &c. 
PRIESTS.— Monks'  gowns. 
PAOE.—Haiidsonie  shirt,  &c. 

THISBE. — Handsomely  trimmed  crimson  velvet  train, 
&c. 

CATHERINE.— White    satin    train.       Second    dress: 
White  muslin. 

REGINELLA. 
UAFNE. 


>  Satin,  trimmed  with  silver. 


A  N  G  E  L  0, 

AND 

THE  ACTRESS  OF  PADUA. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. — A  Terrace  and  Garden  illuminated  for  a 
Fete — Palace  l.,  lighted  tuithin,  ivith  entrance  to  Terrace, 
which  is  separated  6;/  balustrade,  ivith  opening  in  centre  to 
Garden  in  background — Outline  of  the  Town  of  Padua 
seen  through  the  Trees  in  distance — A  bench  on  each  side 
of  the  Palace  Portal,  on  one  of  which  lies  a  Man  {Homo- 
dei)  asleep — Da;/  breaks  towards  the  close  of  the  Act — 
distant  Dance  Music  as  the  Curtain  rises,  which  continues 
during  the  first  dialogue.* 

Enter,  from  Palace,  Sigxors  Gdadaguini,  Bergonzi,  and 

LOKEDANO. 

Gua.  (l,)  a  brilliant  fete  this.  Onr  actress  entertains 
the  nobles  as  if  she  had  been  born  among  them. 

Lor.  (r.)  Her  profusion  should  indicate  great  wealth. 

Ber.  (c.)  The  admired  of  all,  in  all  ranks,  all  become 
jibntary  to  her. 

Gua.  Truly  so ! — Whenever  Thisbe  enters  a  city  or 
province,  every  prince  and  noble  in  it  seems  to  be  encum- 
bered Avith  diamonds,  jewels,  or  flowers,  so  profusely  are 
they  poured  at  her  feet. 

Lor.  Well ;  and  if  she  but  give  them  a  smile  in  return, 
they  have  the  best  of  the  bargain. 

Ber.  Bravo  !  but  we  cannot  be  too  cautious  in  speaking 
for  slie  is  now  in  the  favour  of  one  who  can  strike  ofll"our 
heads  for  even  looking  at  her. 

Gua.  Yes  I  and  woe  to  him  who  should  be  suspected 
of  standing  between-  him  and  the  object  of  his  admiration ! 
But  see — here  lie  !j?'".es,  and  Thisbe  with  him — gloom  and 
sunshine  in  imnatiiral  conjunction  !    '[The;/  retire,  r.  u.  E. 

•  Tlie  Piece  may  be  openeil  nitli  a  Ballet.  i;i  wfiirli  liie  tl'e  Dan. 
*ers  Khuuld  eniergL'  from  the  Palace  a-  the  Curiain  ris<»,  and  'he 
ftitorme.i  ill  tlie  tirst  Dialogue  come  torward  ut  ils  Cviiclusiou. 


10  ANGELO,  AND  THE  [aCT  1. 

Enter  Tiiisbe  and  Ancelo,  l.  8.  B. 

Tliig.  Yes,  here  iiulecd  you  are  master,  my  lord — the 
dijinificd  y;ovcvnor  of  Padua.  Sent  hither  by  Venice,  yoii 
ai)l)car  to  hear  in  your  own  person  the  whole  majesty  of 
that  terrible  republic.  "When  you  pass  through  tlie  streets, 
the  windows  are  closed,  the  passengers  retreat  in  awe, 
and  the  inmates  of  the  houses  tremble.  Here  you  are 
every  body's  master,  and — \Lavghhuihj.'\ — you  would  like 
to  be  mine.  But,  listen,  while  I  tell  you  a  little  truth — 
Don't  be  afraid, — I'm  not  going  to  s])cak  on  state  afl'airs, 
but  on  your  own.  [^IlesitatingJyA  Well!  yes  !Iwills]ieak 
out — you  are  a  strange  man,  and!  do  not  understand  you; — 
you  profess  to  be  enamoured  of  me,  and  yet  you  are  jealous 
of  your  wife ! 

A»g.  I  am  jealous  of  you,  too,  madame. 

This.  Oh  gracious  !  You  have  no  right  to  be  jealous 
of  me ; — for,  although  the  voice  of  calumny  may  pronounce 
me  your  mistress,  you  know  that  1  am  not. 

Ang.  [Looking  around  in  his  desire  to  change  the  con- 
versation.^ The  fete  you  have  given  to-night  has  been 
magnificent. 

This.  Oh !  I  am  but  a  poor  actress,  after  nil,  although 
I  am  allowed  to  fete  nobles  and  senators.  I  did  hope  to 
amuse  my  master,  Init  I  have  failed.  My  lights  and  lamps 
seem  only  to  render  more  sombre  the  .shade  on  your  brow. 
If  I  give  you  music,  you  might  at  least  give  me  a  little 
gaiety  in  return.  [Laughing.^  Come  now,  let  me  have 
one  patronising  smile ! 

Ang.  Well,  I  do  smile But  did  not  you  call  him  your 

brother — that  young  man  whom  you  brought  with  you  to 
Padua? 

This.  I  did  ;— and  what  of  that  ? 

Ang.  You  were  speaking  to  him  just  now. — What  is 
this  brother's  name  ? 

This.  Kodolfo,  my  lord — Eodolfo  ! — I  have  told  you  so 
at  least  twenty  times  before. — Cannot  you  find  something 
more  agreeable  to  talk  about  ? 

Ang.  Pardon  me,  Thisbe — I  will  not  worry  you  with 
any  more  questions.  How  beautifully  you  played  Rosa- 
manda  ! — All  Italy  admires  you — but  the  crowds  who 
gaze  on  you  with  admiring  eyes  fire  my  jealousy  ; — I  am 
maddened  when  I  see  your  l)cauties^  i.adc  the  object  of 

vulgar  adoration  ! Ah,  Thisbe,  who  was  that  man  ia 

the  mask,  with  whom  you  spoke  so  long? 

This.  [Mimicking  him.']   'Pardon  me,  Thisbe — I  wil* 


SCENE  I.]  ACTRKSS  OF  PADtTA.  11 

not  worry  you  -with  any  more  questions.'     Still,  if  you 
must  be  told,  that  man,  my  lord,  was  Virgilio  Tasca. 

-4)77.  i\Iy  lieutenant  1 

This.  The  same. 

Anf7.  And  what  could  you  want  with  him  ? 

T/ii$.  It  would  be  recounting  my  history  to  tell  you; 
and  that  you  cannot  care  to  hear. 

jin(/.  Thisbc,  Tm  impatient ! 

This.  Well,  then,  listen. — You  know  what  I  am — an 
actress — a  thing  caressed  to-day,  and  cast  away  in  scorn 
to-moiTOw — one  whose  destiny  it  is  to  act,  and  therefore 
supposed  to  be  always  acting  a  part.  The  daughter  of 
poor  people,  I  live  for  the  fame  I  have  made  ; — but  I  have 
had  something  better  to  live  for — a  mother !  Know  you 
what  it  is  to  have  had  a  good  mother  ? 

Ang.  Certainly. 

This.  I  doubt  it  I — Xone  but  the  poor  know  what  a 
mother  can  be  !  You  have  not  known  what  it  is  to  be  a 
poor  feeble  child,  naked,  hungrj-,  wandering  in  helpless- 
ness ; — but  that  you  have  near  you — around  you — above 
you — walking  when  you  walk— stopping  when  you  stop — • 
weeping  when  you  weep — smiling  when  you  smile — a  wo- 
man— more  than  a  woman — the  angel  destined  to  watch 
over  you — to  teach  you  to  smile,  to  speak,  to  love — she 
whom  you  call  mother,  and  who  calls  you  child,  in  accents 
so  sweet,  that  you  can  only  hope  to  hear  the  like  again  in 
heaven  I — Well,  such  was  the  mother  I  had  ;  she  was  a 
poor  Avidow.  and  a  ballad-singer  in  the  streets  of  Brescia. 
I  used  to  accompany  her,  and  pick  up  the  money  that 
was  thrown  to  her.  It  was  thus  I  began  my  career.  One 
day.  it  seemed  from  the  laughter  of  those  around,  that 
the  song  my  mother  was  singing,  though  she  did  not 
understand  it,  contained  some  verses  derisive  of  the  Vene- 
tian government.  A  senator  was  passing,  who  heard  and 
understood  it.  Turning  to  an  ofiiccr  who  was  following 
him,  he  ordered  him  to  seize  her,  and  hang  her  at  the  nearest 
place  of  execution  I — My  poor  mother  said  nothing — she 
knew  how  useless  it  would  be. — She  embraced  me,  let  fall 
one  large  tear  on  my  forehead,  took  her  crucifix  from  her 
bosom,  and  quiet*ly  submitted  to  be  bound.  I  still  see  that 
crucifix — it  was  of  polished  brass,  with  my  name,  Thisbe, 
in  large  letters  on  the  base  of  it.  Motionless  as  in  a  trance, 
I  saw  my  poor  mother  bound,  without  power  to  speak,  or 
cry,  or  weep.  Tlie  crowd  dared  not  to  speak.  But  with 
the  senator  there  was  a  little  girl,  whom  he  held  by  the 
hand — his  daughter,  d'^ubtlessly — who  wept  aloud  her 


i2  ANGELO,  AND  THE  [aCT  I. 

pity.  Oh,  she  was  a  beautiful  girl,  my  lord! — Poor  child ! 
she  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  senator — she  prayed— 
she  wept  such  tears  from  her  beautiful  eyes,  tliat  she  ob- 
tained my  mother's  pardon.  Yes,  my  lord,  that  child 
saved  my  mother.  AVhen  she  was  released,  she  took  her 
crueili.K,  and  gave  it  to  that  fair  child,  begging  her  to 
preserve  it,  in  the  assurance  that,  sooner  or  later,  it  would 
prove  her  protector ! — 

Aiiff.  But  how  can  this  concern  ray  lieutenant,  Vigilio 
Tasca? 

This.  Since  then,  my  mother  has  died — sainted  woman, 
and  I  have  become  rich.  I  would  again  see  tliat  child— 
that  angel,  that  saved  my  mother's  life.  Ciiild,  do  I  say  ?— . 
She  must  be  a  woman  now,  and  j)ossibly  in  misery !  In 
every  town  I  visit,  I  inquire  of  the  governor — of  the  pro- 
vost— of  the  police  ; — to  all  I  recount  my  story; — and  to 
him  who  shall  discover  the  woman  I  seek,  I  will  freely 
give  ten  thousand  golden  sequins. 

Anp.  Ten  thousand  sequins ! — Then  what  would  you 
give  to  the  woman  herself,  if  you  found  her? 

This.  My  life,  if  she  desired  it. 

A)u/.  But  how  can  you  recognise  her? 

This.  By  my  mother's  crucifix. 

Anff.  Bsha !  she  will  have  lost  it, 

I'his.  Oh  no  !  a  thing  so  acquired  is  not  lightly  parted 
with. 

Anff.  {Perceiving  Homodei,  and  in  alarm.\  Madame, 
Madame !  there's  a  man  here !  Did  you  know  of  his  being 
here  ? 

This.  \_LaHr/hing.']  Oh  yes,  I  know  there  is  a  man  there, 
and  that  lie  sleeps — soundly.  You  need  not  worry  your- 
self about  him — it  is  only  my  poor  Homodei. 

Ang.  Homodei ! — "Who  is  tliat  ? — Homodei  ? 

This.  Yes,  Homodei.  He  is  a  man,  my  lord,  but  that 
he  lacks  man's  intellect.  He  is  a  poor  idiot  guitar-player, 
whom  the  Trimate  of  St.  Mark,  notwithstanding,  sent 
with  a  letter  to  me. — (Don't  be  jealous,  i'U  show  you  the 
letter) — and  at  the  same  time  a  present. 

Ang.  What  present "? 

This.  Oh,  a  real  Venetian  present ; — a  ca'sket  containing 
two  vials,  one  filled  with  a  strong  sleeping-draught,  the 
other  witb  a  deadly  poison.  The  Primate's  letter  conveys 
a  liope  that  1  may  find  them  useful  on  some  occasion — a 
characteristic  jjiece  of  gallantry,  yoii  see. 

Aug.  [Thottg/ufaUy.'\  Have  you  aaswcred  me  truly  about 
that  mau  } 


BCr.NE  I.]  ACTRKSS  OF  PADUA.  13 

This.  Now  yon  must  be  joking  I — A  pretty  occasion  for 
alarm — a  poor  guitai--playcr — an  idiot  who  passes  most 
of  his  time  in  sleep! — Ah,  my  lord,  yonr  whole  life  is 
consumed  in  inquiries  relative  to  one  or  another ! — Is  this 
jealousy,  or  is  it  fear  ? 

Ang.  Botli- 

This.  Jealousy  I  can  understand.  You  aspire  to  the 
love  :  nd  fidelity  of  tv.'o  women,  and  must  abide  the 
consequences ! — But  fear — in  the  governor  whom  every  one 
fears ! 

Aug.  Therefore  is  it  that  I  fear  every  one.  \^Approaching 
close  y  to  Thi.<he,  and  speaking  in  an  under-toae.]  Listen, 
Thisbe.  It  is  true,  I  am,  as  you  say,  the  master — the 
sovereign — the  despot  over  this  tow^l.  I  am  tlie  magis- 
trate phiced  by  Venice  over  Padua — the  paw  of  the  tiger 
on  the  lamb.  Yes,  I  am  all  powerful ;  but  absolute  as 
lam,  there  is  beyond  me  something  more  terrible — Venice, 
with  its  Inquisition  and  its  Council  of  Ten.  Let  us  speak 
softly,  Thisbe,  or  we  in  Padua  may  be  overheard  in  Venice. 
They  have  spies  every  where — men  whom  none  of  us  know, 
and  yet  they  know  iis  all— men  v.ho  are  visible  at  no  cere- 
mony, yet  are  known  to  be  omnipresent — men  who  have 
the  lives  of  all  in  their  hands,  your's,  mine,  even  that  of 
the  Doge  himself;  yet  they  have  neither  star  nor  crowa 
to  mark  them  to  the  eye.  We  walk  the  earth  like  kings, 
but  in  an  hour  we  are  denounced,  condemned ! — There  is 
a  plash  in  the  canal — they  who  are  gliding  by  in  their 
gondolas  to  balls  and  fetes  start,  and  pass  more  quickly. — 
You,  my  fair  actress,  know  nothing  of  these  horrors;  but 
I  know  them  too  well. — There  is  in  every  palace,  without 
the  knowledge  of  him  who  lives  tiiere,  a  secret  passage 
leading  to  all  the  rooms — a  dark  corridor,  of  which  others, 
and  not  the  occupier,  know  the  doors.  Often,  in  the  night, 
I  start  up  in  my  bed;  I  listen,  and  hear  footsteps  in  the 
very  walls — Thisbe,  I  am  not  placed  over  Fadu:i,  but  it  is 
placed  over  me.  I  am  only  a  master  that  I  may  be  a  tyrant. 
Never  ask  me  to  pardon  any  one  ;  for  I  could  not  refuse 
you,  and  1  should  be  ruined.  I  have  power  to  punish, 
but  none  to  pardon.  I  am  well  Matched.  Only  lot  me 
set  a  workman  to  make  a  lock,  and  before  the  lock  is 
finished,  the  Council  of  Ten  has  possession  of  tlio  key. 
Madame,  madamc,  the  valet  who  waits  on  me  is  a  spy 
upon  me;  the  friend  who  takes  me  by  the  hand  is  a  spy 
upon  mc  ;  the  priest  who  confesses  me  is  a  spy  upon  me ; 
the  woman  who  tells  me  she  loves  me  is  a  spy  upon  mo— . 

This   Oh,  sir  I 

a 


14  ANOKLO,  AND  THE  [aCT  t 

A»p.  You  luivo  never  said  you  loved  me.  I  do  not 
speak  of  you,  Tlii:jbe.  Yes,  I  repeat,  the  eye  of  the  Coun- 
cil of  Teii  is  ever  on  me  ;  the  car  of  the  Council  of  Ten 
is  ever  open  to  me  ;  the  hand  of  the  Council  of  Ten  i» 
ever  f^^i'aspins^  mc.  Oh,  sad  and  severe  is  my  condition. 
Pity  inc,  and  do  not  a^ain  ask  why  I  tremble  ! 

T/iis.  Yours  is  indeed  a  fearful  position  1 

Atif^.  Ah,  Thisbe,  I  am  ever  unhajjpy  !  I  have  hut 
one  consolrnjj  hope,  and  tlmt  is  in  you.  And  yet  I  feel 
you  do  not  love  me ; — but  you  do  not  love  another — say 
you  do  not  love  another. 

T/iis.  Xo,  no !  calm  yourself. 

Anfj.  You  did  not  say  'no'  as  if  you  meant  h. 

This.  I  said  it  as  well  as  I  was  able. 

Aufj.  Ah!  j'ou  will  never  be  mine — I  must  bear  with 
that ;  but  you  are  not  for  another,  Thisbe, — never  let  me 
hear  that  another \_Adinirini/Ji/  and  conx-ingly. 

This.  [La\(ffhinffb/.~\  Do  you  think  yourself  irresistible 
•w  hen  you  look  at  me  thus  'i 

Ang.  Ah,  Thisbe,  when  may  I  hope  for  your  love? 

This.  When  all  about  you  love  you. 

Ang.  Alas ! — Well,  at  least  remain  in  Padua — ^I  would 
Dot  you  should  leave  it.  When  you  go,  my  life  will  be 
gone  !  But  what  are  we  about !  We  have  been  long  in 
conversation,  and  there  may  be  listeners. — \Going.']\  will 
leave  you  now.  [Stopping  and  observing  HoinodeiJ]  You 
can  answer  for  that  man  ? 

This.  As  for  a  sleeping  infant. 

Ang.  [Looking  off,  u.  J  Here  is  yonr  brother  coming.  I 
•will  leave  you  to  yourselves.  [Exit,  into  Pcdace, 

Enter  RoDOLFO,  n.u.  e. 

Tliis.  Ah  !  it  is  Rodolfo !  it  is  Rodolfo,  my  beloved  1 
[Looking  towards  the  road  bij  ivfiich  Angela  has  departed. 
No,  poor  tyrant,  he  is  no  brother  of  mine.  Approach, 
IlodoKo,  my  brave  soldier,  my  noble  exile,  my  generous 
f;iend  !  Look  me  well  in  the  face — you  are  handsome, 
•md  I  do  love  you  ! — I  cannot  but  confess  it ! 

Rod.  Thisbe ! 

This.  Why  have  you  come  to  Padua?  I  fear  some 
snare.  We  cannot  getaway  at  present.  The  chief  magis- 
trate is  smitten  with  your  poor  Tiiisbe  ;  he  will  not  lose 
sight  of  us,  and  I  so  fear  he  maj'  discover  who  you  really 
are.  He  shall  learn  nothing  from  me — -you  know  that, 
do  you  not,  Rodolfo  V — But  you  arc  not  anxious  about 
it — you  do  not  appear  at  all  jealous  of  your  rival? 


SCF.NE  I.]  ACTRESS  OF  PADUA.  15 

Rod.  No,  Thisbe — you  are  a  noble  charming  woman. 

This.  Oh !  but  I  r.ni  jenlous  of  you. — I  can't  bear  to 
hear  you  even  speak  to  other  women  ; — what  right  have 
they  to  a  word  irom  my  Rodolfo  ? — Oh,  never  let  me  have 
a  rival ;  I  should  kill  her.  Yoix  arc  the  only  man  I  have 
ever  loved.  Your  love  is  the  light  of  my  life — tlie  sun 
that  wanns  and  cheers  me.  Oh  !  that  I  had  known  you 
ten  years  sooner.  I  feel  now  all  the  chords  of  my  heart 
that  were  chilled  with  the  world's  coolness  begin  to  revive 
within  me.  What  joy  to  be  alone  but  for  a  moment ! — ■ 
My  Rodolfo!  my  lover! — My  brother,  indeed! — I  am 
mad  with  joy  in  being  allowed  to  speak  to  you  at  my 
ease ! — You  sec  how  foolish  I  am  ! — Do  you  love  me  ! 

Rod.  Who  does  not  love  you,  Thisbe  ? 

This.  If  that  is  all  you  have  to  say,  I  must  be  satisfied. 
I  must  go  and  show  myself  among  my  guests.  [^Goinrt,  but 
she  returns,  places  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  looks  into 
his/ace.^  Tell  me — for  some  time  past  I  have  observed 
vou  to  look  sad  : — are  you  so  ? 

Rod.  No,  Thisbe. 

This.  And  you  are  not  ill? 

Rod.  No. 

This.  You  a'  e  sure  yon  are  not  jealouB  ? 

Rod.  No. 

This.  \Pln)/fidli/.\  I  wish  you  were — just  a  little  jealous, 
that  I  might  be  sure  you  love  me  ! — But  come,  no  more 
downcast  looks. — No  one  here  knows  that  you  are  not 
my  brother. 

Rod.  Except  Anafesto. 

This.  Your  friend. — Oh,  he  can  be  depended  on. 

Enter  Anafesto,  r. 

Here  he  is.  I  will  leave  you  witli  him  for  a  while.  [To 
Ano/esto,  laughitighj.'\  Monsieur  Anafesto,  take  care  that 
he  does  not  speak  with  any  other  woman. 

Ana.  \Smiling.^  Make  yourself  easy,  madame. 

[Exit  Thisbe,  into  Palace. 

Ana.  [Coming forward. "l  Charming  woman !  Rodolfo, 
you  are  a  happy  man — she  loves  you ! 

Rod.  Anafesto,  I  am  not  happy — I  do  not  love  her. 

Ana.  How  !  what  do  you  say  ? 

Rod.  [Tu  ning,  and  perceiv.ng  Huinodei.'\  Who  is  that 
man,  sleeping  there  ? 

Ana.  No  one  of  .any  conrcquence  , — only  the  poor  mil* 
fcician.     Do  you  not  know  him  ? 

Rod.  Oh  yes — the  idio*. 

b2 


16  &.NGELO,  AND  THE  [aCT  I 

Ana.  Yo.i  ilo  not  love  This!  c  ! — Is  it  possible  ? 

Bod.  Ah  !  (lid  I  say  so  ?    For<j:ct  that  I  liuvc  said  it 

Ani.  'i'liisbc,  that  aflorahlc  woman  ! 

Jiod.  Adoralilc  to  all  othcvs,  but  I  cannot  love  her. 

Ana.  Poor  Thisbe  !  But  why  deceive  hci-  ? — If  you 
cannot  love  her,  why  not  tell  her  so  ? 

Hod.  Dare  you  tell  her  ? — You  know  her ! — There  is  a 
secret  connected  with  my  life  known  only  to  myself. 

Ana.  Some  day  you  will  coniidc  it  to  your  friend, — will 
vou  not? — You  are  too  depressed  in  mind,  just  now, 
iiodolfo  ? 

Mod.  Yes  ; — pray  leave  mc  to  myself  awhile. 

\Music. — Exit  Anafeslo,  ii.  u.  k. — liodol/o  sea's  him' 
self  on  the  bench,  near  the  doorway,  andbvrieshis 
head  in  his  hands — Homodei  opens  his  etjef,  ri/es, 
and  pas-es  behind  BodoJ/o,  ivho,  absorbed  in 
reverie,  does  not  see  him — Homodei  places  Ai'.--  hand 
on  the  shoidder  of  Rodolfo,  ivho  starts,  and  looks 
round  with  astonishment. 

Horn.  [^S!oK'l>/  and  emphaticalli/.']  Your  name  is  not 
Rodolfo,  but  Ezzelon  da  Komano.  You  are  of  an  ancient 
family,  that  rei:;ned  over  Padua,  and  was  banished  two 
hundred  years  ago.  You  Mander,  under  a  false  name, 
from  town  to  town,  sometimes  venturing  into  the  state  of 
Venice.  Seven  years  ago,  in  that  city — you  were  then 
twenty  years  old — you  saw  a  beautiful  girl  in  the  chapel 
of  St.  George.  You  did  not  follow  her,  for  in  Venice  to 
follow  a  woman  is  to  rush  upon  a  dagger's  point ;  but  you 
often  Mcnt  again  to  the  chapel,  and  so  did  the  maiden. 
You  had  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  she  with  you.  With- 
out knowing  her  name — and  you  know  it  not  even  yet, 
excejit  that  she  allowed  you  to  address  her  as  Catlierine, 
you  ibund  means  to  correspond  with  her,  and  she  granted 
j'ou  meetings  at  the  house  of  a  woman  named  Cecilia. 
She  was  noble — that  was  all  you  could  learn  of  her,  and 
a  Venetian  noble  can  only  wed  a  noble,  or  a  sovereign; 
and  you  are  neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  At  length,  the 
woman  Cecilia  apprised  you  that  your  Catherine  was 
married.  You  were  no  more  successful  in  leai-ning  the 
name  of  her  husband  than  of  her  father.  In  distraction 
you  quitted  Venice,  and  travelled  over  all  Italy,  hoping 
thereby  to  dispel  your  suttering,  but  in  vain  ;  you  have 
nislicd  into  the  pleasures  and  dissipations  of  great  cities, 
equally  in  vain  ;  you  have  tried  to  love  other  women — 
you  have  thought  yourself  in  love  with  this  actress,  more 
in  vain  still,    Th'  ec  months  ago  you  came  to  Padua  with 


SCENE  r.]  ACTRESS  OF  PADUA.  17 

Thisbe.  One  night,  while  sauntering  in  soitude,  on  tho 
bridge  of  ]\Iolino,  a  Avoman  in  a  veil  parsed,  and  beckoned 
you.  Following  her,  she  led  you  to  the  street  of  St.  Peter,  in 
which  arc  the  ruins  of  an  old  palace.  There  you  found 
the  lady  whom  you  had  loved  at  Venice,  true  in  heart  to 
you  as  you  to  her.  From  that  time,  and  in  that  place, 
you  had  frequent  meetings ;  but,  sternly  faithful  to  her 
enforced  marriage  vows,  you  were  only  allowed  to  know 
her  as  Catherine.  About  a  month  ago  sheYailed  to  come, 
and  it  it  is  now  nearly  live  weeks  since  you  have  seen  her. 
The  reason  is,  that  her  husband  distrusts  her,  and  keeps 
her  closely  guarded.  You  seek  her  everywhere — by  day 
and  by  night — but  you  cannot  find  her ;  and  you  never 
will,  except  through  my  assistance.  Would  you  like  to 
see  her  this  evening ! 

Rod.  [Gazing  steadfastly  at  Homodei.'\  Man, who  are  you? 

Horn.  Ah  !  question  me  not — I  shall  not  reply. — Once 
again,  do  you  wish  to  sec  the  lady  this  evening  ? 

Rod.  Yes!  yes!  I  would  see  licr.  In  the  name  of  heaven, 
let  me  see  her  once  again,  and  die. 

Horn.  You  shall  see  her. 

Rod.  Where? 

Horn.  In  her  own  house. 

Rod.  But  tell  me  about  her. — Who  is  she  ?  what  is  her 
name  ? 

Iloiii.  You  shall  learn  more  from  her  own  lips. 

Rod.  All !  surely  you  arc  sent  from  heaven. 

novn.  To-night,  at  the  rising  of  the  moon — or  say  mid- 
night, tliat  is  more  specitic— be  at  the  angle  of  the  palace 
that  abuts  on  the  street  St.  Urbano.  I  shall  be  there,  and 
will  conduct  you  farther.     Mind — at  midnight. 

Rod.  Thanks,  thanks !  But  v/ill  jou  not  tell  me  who 
you  arc? 

Hoin.  [iSart?' n;V«%.]  Whoam  I? — An  idiot!  [Exit,u. 

Rod.  \Solus.~\  Who  can  this  man  be  ? — No  matter  !  At 
midnight — how  long  it  seems  to  have  to  wait  till  mid- 
night ! — Oh,  Catherine,  for  the  hour  he  promises  me  with 
you,  I  would  give  up  my  lifetime. 

Enter  TnisBE,/ro;H  her  Palace. 

This.  Here  I  am  again,  Eodolfo — I  cannot  be  long 
se)ianucd  from  you — I  am  the  shadow  of  your  body,  and 
j-ou  are  the  soul  of  mine. 

Rud.  Beware,  Tliisbe.     Jly  race  is  fated  !     There  is  • 
malediction  hanging  over  us,  that  must  inevitably  descend 
from  fathci  to  sou.     It  is  death  to  love  us ! 
e3 


18.  ANGEI.O,  AND  TUB  [aCT  I. 

This.  Very  well ! — Then  you  will  kill  rnc — Avliat  an 
idea — because  I  love  you. 

Rod.  Thisl)o! 

This.  You'll  mako  me  weep  presently — I  will  have  no 
more  of  tills. 

Jiod.  Thisbc,  you  deserve  the  love  of  an  angel ! 

[A'/i-voa  her  hand,  <in  t  exit,  n.  s.  e. 

This.  Bless  me,  how  he  leaves  nic  ! — Rodolfo  ! — he's 
gone !  What  can  be  the  matter  with  him  ?  [^Looking 
towards  the  bench  on  ivhich  Homodei  had  lain.l  Oh !  Homo- 
dci  has  awakened. 

Re-enter  IIomodei,  b.  r.  e. 

Hotn.  I  With  (ijfected  incoherence/. \  Rodolfo  is  Ezzelino; 
the  scemiuf^  adventurer  is  a  prince  ;  the  idiot  is  a  wit ; 
the  sleeper  is  a  cat  on  the  watch ; — while  the  eye  is  shut, 
the  car  is  wide  ojien. 

This.  What  is  he  trying  to  say  ? 

Horn.  [Showi)iff  hisffiiitiir.']  Tliis  guitar  has  strings  that 
Tihratc  to  the  touch ; — so  has  the  heart  of  man  and  of 
V'oman  chords  that  one  may  play  upon. 

This.  Wiiat  can  he  mean  ? 

Honi.  Madame,  what  I  wish  to  say  is  this  ; — that  if,  by 
chance,  you  should  this  day  lose  a  cavalier  who  wears  a 
vhitc  feather  in  his  hat,  I  could  show  yon  where  to  find 
him  in  the  evening,  Mith  a  woman. 

This.  With  a  woman  ! 

Hotn.  Ay,  a  handsome  woman  ! 

This.  What !  what  do  you  say  ? — who  are  yon?. 

Horn.  I  know  nothing. 

This.  Ah,  you  arc  not  what  I  have  taken  you  for.  The 
Podesta  was  right, — you  arc  a  cunning  man  !  Who  are 
you  ? — Oh,  who  are  you  ? — Kodolfo  with  a  woman  !  and 
this  very  night !  Is  that  what  you  would  say,  eh  ? — Is 
that  what  you  would  say? 

Ho)ii.  I  know  nothing. 

2'/i!s.  Oh,  you  i^peak  falsely!  'Tis impossible !  Rodolpho 
loves  me ! 

Horn.  I  know  nothing. 

litis.  Wretch,  thou  licst !  Seme  one  must  have  paid 
you  to  say  this — I  have  enemies,  but  Kodolfo  loves  me  ! 
[^Endeavonriuf/  to  appear  comjyos€.d.'\  Go,  you  have  not 
succeeded  in  alarming  me  !  I  do  not  believe  you  ! — It 
must  be  very  n;ortifying  to  you  to  sec  that  what  you  say 
has  no  ctl'cct  ui)on  me. 

llom.  You  have  doubtlessly  remarked  tha*  the  Sigaof 


SCENE  I.J  ACTRESS  OF  PACTJA.  19 

Angelo  carries  on  a  chain  around  his  neck  a  little  jewel 
worked  in  gold.  It  is  a  key.  Pretend  to  admire  it,  and 
ask  him  to  give  it  yon.     I  can  show  you  how  to  use  it. 

This.  A  key,  do  you  say  ? — I  will  not  ask  for  it !  I  will 
not  ask  for  anything.  [^Anide.!  This  wretch  would  make 

me  suspect  Kodolfo. — [^^owd.J  I  do  not  want  the  key 

Go,  I  will  not  listen  to  you. 

Horn.  l^Crosshir/,  r.J  Angelo  comes.  When  you  liavo 
got  the  key,  I'll  exjjlain  to  you  how  it  will  serve  you  to- 
night ;  I  sliall  return  shortly. 

This.  Wretch  !  do  you  not  hear  me  ?  I  told  you  I  did 
not  want  the  kcj' — I  have  full  tnist  in  Rodolfo — as  to 
the  key,  I  shall  not  trouble  myself  about  it — I  will  not  say 
a  word  to  Angelo — -therefore  do  not  retum,  it  is  useless. 

Horn.  I  shall  retm-n  shortly.  [^Edit,  l. 

Enter  Angelo,  b. 

This.  Ah,  sir!  whom  did  you  expect  to  find  here  ?— 
Arc  you  still  jealous  ? 

Ang.  Always,  niadame. 

This.  You  are  very  silly — wiiat's  the  good  of  being  jea- 
lous?— If  I  loved  a  man,  I  should  certainly  not  be  jealous. 

Ang.  Do  you  love  no  one  ? 

Tills.  Oh,  yes  ;  I  love  somebody. 

Ana.  Whom  ? 

This.  You. 

Ang.  You  love  me  ? — Is  it  possible  ? — don't  trifle  with 
me — oh !  repeat  what  you  have  jnst  said  to  me. 

Tlds.  I  love  you.  \^Sh  ■  approaches  him  rapluroushj,  and 
takes  hold  of  the  chain  that  hangs  to  his  neck.j  Oh  !  what's 

this ?    I  never  remarked  it  before. — It's  very  pretty — . 

well  worked — charming— it's  so  pretty  it  ought  to  belong 
to  a  woman. 

Ang.  Ah,  Thisbe  !  you  have  filled  my  heart  with  joy 
by  a  word  of  kindness. 

This.  Well— well— but  tell  me  what  is  this  ? 

Ang.  This — it's  only  a  key. 

This.  Ah,  a  key,  is  it  ?  Well,  I  never  should  hara 
thought  of  that. — Ah  !  I  sec  now — yes,  it  is  a  key. 

Ang.  Yes,  my  Thisbe. 

This.  Oh,  as  it's  only  a  key,  I  don't  want  it. 

Ang.  Why  did  you  then  want  it,  Thisbe? 

This.  Why — yes— merely  as  a  prettily  worked  trifle. 

Ang.  Oh,  then — pray  take  it. 

[//«  detaches  the  keyfr<»n  his  collar^ 

This.  It  is  of  use  to  you,  perhaps. 


20  ANOELO,  AND  THE  [aCT  1- 

Atifj.  Oh,  very  seldom ;  besides,  I  have  another — you 
San  take  it. 

This.  No,  I've  no  wish  for  it — can  doors  be  opened  with 
that  key  V — ii's  a  very  small  one. 

Avg.  Oh,  tliat's  nothing — these  keys  arc  meant  for 
secret  locks — this  opens  many  doors — among  others,  that 
of  my  sleei)ing  apartment ; — pray  take  it. 

This.  Inileed !  well,  since  you  are  so  pressing,  I  will 
take  it. 

Ang.  Oh!  thank  you — what  happiness !  you  have  made 
me  happy  by  accepting  this  trifl  ■. 

This.  Ah  !  I  remember,  the  French  Ambassador  had 
sometliing  very  like  it  — By  the  bye,  I  think  a  stranger 
was  inquiring  lor  you  just  now  in  the  gallciy. 

Atirf.  Do  you  think  so? — A  stranger,  say  you? 

Tlds.  Yes  ;  and  a  suspicious-looking  person  he  is. 

Anp.  Curses  on  the  fellow,  to  snatch  me  so  soon  from  you. 

This.  \Pointing,  r.]  That  way. 

An[i.  \  Kissing  her  hand.^  Oh,  Tliisbc!  then  you  do 
love  mc  ? 

This.  That  way — that  way — he'a  waiting  for  j'ou. ' 

l^E.tjit  Angela,  it. 
Re-enter  IIomodie  l.  u.  e. 

This.  {Running  to  meet  him.']  I've  got  the  key. 

Horn.  Let  mc  look.  {Utauiines  the  keij.]  Yes,  that's 
well. — There  is  in  the  palace  of  Angelo  a  gallery  that  looks 
upon  the  bridge  Molino.  Conceal  yourself  there  to-night — 
behind  the  fumiturc — behind  the  tapestry — any  where  you 
please. 

This.  I  will  reward  you  better  hereafter. — For  the  pre- 
sent, take  this  ])urse.  \ Gives  purse. 

Horn.  Just  as  you  please — but  let  me  finish. — At  two 
hours  after  midnight  I  will  come  and  fetch  you ;  I  will 
show  you  the  first  door  you  will  have  to  open  with  that 
key. — After  that  I  shall  leave  you  ;  you  can  do  the  rest 
without  mc — you  have  but  to  go  straight  onwards. 

This.  What  shall  I  find  after  passing  tlie  first  door. 

Honi.  A  second,  which  that  key  will  also  opcu. 

This.  And  after  the  second  '? 

Horn.  A  third. — That  key  opens  them  all. 

This.  And  after  the  third? 

Horn.  Yon  will  see. 
[Ejcit  Homodei,  n.  u.  e. — Thisbe  looks  after  him  ivith 
astonishment,  as  Curtain /alia. 

END  OF  .VCT  I. 


SCENE  I.]  ACTRESS  OF  PADUA.  21 

ACT    II. 

FCENE  I. — A  Chamber  ricMy  hung  with  scarlet,  frivged 
with  gold — A  magnificent  Btd,  l.,  under  a  Caxo/nj  suj}- 
ported  by  twisted  Columns — At  the  corners  oftlie  Canopi/ 
crimson  Curtains,  which  can  shut  and  conceal  the  Bed— 
An  open  Windoiu,  k. — and  a  Door  concealed-  by  Drapery — 
A  chair  for  devotioninfront  of  Dressing -Table — Dressing- 
glass,  on  ivhich  is  suspended  a  Crucifix  of  polished  brass — ■ 
Folding-door.-i  at  back — A  door,  l.,  and  a  small  door  i,. 
of  bed,  very  much  ornamented — Table,  c. — Arm-chairs — . 
Large  Candlesticks,  with  candles  burning — A  large  Ward- 
robe— Gardens,  and  Steeples  seen  through  the  Windows,  b. 
in  the  Moonlight — Rosary  on  Table. 

Dafne  and  Reginklla  discovered. 

Reg.  Yes,  Dafnc, — it's  quite  true;  the  thing  really 
happened  ; — the  last  time  my  lady  went  to  Venice,  one  of 
the  satellites  of  the  Co..ncil  of  Ten,  an  infiinious  minion, 
presumed  to  make  love  to  her — 'o  write  to  her,  Dafne; 
and.  he  even  tried  to  sec  her. — Could  you  imagine  such 
a  thing?     Madame  had  him  discharged. 

Daf  [Opening  the  door  of  the  Oratory.']  "Well,  well, 
Ecginella;— but  our  mist  ess  wails  for  her  prayer-book, 
you  know ; — and  you  should  be  cautious  how  you  talk. 

Reg.  [Arranging  books  on  table.]  Ah !  3'ou'rc  right ; 
one  must  take  care  what  one  says  in  the  palace; — iherc's 
always  some  one  listening,  you  may  depend  upon  it,— 
even  in  the  very  walls. 

Daf.  Do  make  haste — we  will  talk  another  time — my 
mistress  waits. 

Reg.  [Looking  at  things  on  <a6?e.]  If  you're  in  such  a 
hurry,  go  yourself,  and  I'll  follow.  [Dafne  goes  out  at  door, 
B.,  and  shuts  the  door  tvithout  Reginella  perceiving  her.'] 
But  you  see,  Dafne,  I  always  recommend  silence  in  this 
horrid  palace ;  this  is  the  only  room  where  one's  in  safety — 
this  is  t:ic  only  place  where  one  can  speak  freely,  and  bo 
6ure  of  not  being  heard. 

[^While  she  is  speaking,  a  wardrobe  behind  her,  fixed 
to  the  wall  on  the  right,  turns  round  of  itself,  and 
HoMOOEi  enters  through  the  aperture,  tvithout  her 
perceiving  him ; — tlui  wardrobe  again  turns,  and 
closes  the  opening. 

Horn,  (k.)  [31imicking  her.]  'This  is  the  only  place 
where  one  can  speak  freely,  and  be  sure  of  not  being  heard,' 

Meg.  [^Turning  round.]  Good  heavens! 


22  ANGELO,  AND  THB  [acT  U. 

Horn.  Silence! 

[i/e  open.t  his  cloak,  and  discovers,  oti  his  vest  of  black 

velvet,  the  three  letters  C.D.X.,  embroidered  in 

silver — Rcginella  looks  at  the  letters,  and  regards 

the  ?)!«n  iL'ith  terror. 

'^''hcn  nri}'  person  has  seen  one  of  us,  and  gives  the  smallest 

rca>on  for  anoth.cr  to  gncss  that  one  of  us  has  been  seen, 

the  party  seeing  us  dies  before  the  day  is  over.    You  know 

the  truth  of  tliis,  for  you  must  have  heard  us  spoken  of. 

li^ff.  Heavens  !  Avhat  door  did  he  come  in  at  ? 

Horn,  l^y  none. 

Her/.  Oh  !  mercy ! 

Horn.  Answer  my  questions,  and  do  not  deceive  me  ;— 
your  life  depends  on  it. — Where  docs  that  door  lead  to? 

[^Pointing  to  door,  L. 

Beg.  To  the  sleeping  apartment  of  my  master. 

Horn.  {Pointing  to  smacl  door  at  back.']  And  that  ? 

Reg.  U'o  a  .>ecret  staircase  that  eommunicates  with  tho 
galleries  of  the  palace  ; — my  master  alone  has  the  key. 

Horn.  [Pointing  to  door  near  dressing-table.J  And  that? 

Beg.  To  the  oratory  of  my  l;:dv. 

Horn.  Is  there  an  outlet  Irom  that  oratoiy  ? 

Beg.  No  : — the  ora  ory  is  iu  a  tower — and  in  that  there 
is  only  one  grated  window. 

Horn.  [Going  to  window,  and  looking  ottt.]  Which  is  on 
a  level  with  this. — That's  well — twenty-four  feet  to  the 
end  of  the  wall — and  then  the  Brenta. — The  grating  is 
unnecessary. — But  there  is  a  small  staircase  iu  the  oratory 
. — where  does  it  lead  to  ? 

Beg.  To  the  chamber  of  Dafnc,  sir. 

Horn.  Is  there  any  outlet  from  that  chamber? 

Beg.  No,  sir  ;  only  a  grated  window,  and  no  door  but 
that  which  leads  down  to  the  oratoiy. 

Horn.  When  your  mistress  comes  in,  you  will  go  up 
into  your  room,  and  remain  there,  without  listening,  and 
without  speaking. 

Beg.  I  will  obey,  sir. 

Horn.  Where  is  your  mistress? 

Beg.  In  the  oratory,  at  prayer. 

Horn.  She  will  return  here  presently? 

Beg.  Yes,  sir. 

Horn.  Not  sooner  than  a  quarter  of  an  hotir? 

Beg.  No,  sir. 

Horn.  Thai's  well ;  now  go. — [Reginella  is  going,  r.,  but 
Bomodie  stamps  ivith  his  foot,  and  she  comes  back.\  You 
have  not  seou  me — you  do  not  even  know  that  I  exist — - 
you  understand  ?    If  you  hazard  a  word,  I  shall  h<;ar  it; 


eCF.XE  1.]  ACTRESS  OP  PADUA.  Sj 

a  glance  of  the  ey«,  I  shall  see  it ;  a  j^cstnre — a  sign^ — a 
liioti(jn  of  the  hand — I  shall  perceive  it. — Now  go. 
Brg.  Oh,  heaven !  is  any  one  to  be  killed  here? 
Mom.  Yes — you,  if  you  speak. 

[Music. — At  the  si  pud  from  Homode'.,  Refjinella  poes 
out  at  the  small  door  near  the  dressivg-tahle — when 
she  is  pone,  Homodei  approaches  the  wardrobe, 
which  turns  rovnd  as  before,  and  discovers  to  tfte 
audience  a  dark  passage. 
SignorRodolfo,  you  cr  u  come  in  now — nine  steps  to  ascend. 

Enter  RoDoi.ro,  enveloped  in  a  cloak. 

Bod.  "Where  am  I  ? 

Horn.  Where  are  yon  ? — perhaps  on  the  steps  of  the 
Bcaffold. 

Bod.  What  say  you  ? 

Horn.  Have  you  never  heard  tliat  there  is  in  Padua  a 
chamber,  which,  though  redolent  of  flowers,  of  perfumes, 
and  even  perhaps  of  love,  no  man  can  penetrate  whoever 
he  be,  noble  or  subject,  young  or  o'.d,  but  his  so  entering, 
or  even  opening  the  door,  is  a  crime  punihab'e  by  death. 

Bod.  Yes  ;  the  chamber  of  the  wife  of  the  Podesta. 

Horn.  Just  so. 

Bod.  Well? 

Horn.  You  arc  in  it. 

Bod.  In  the  room  of  Angelo's  wife  ? 

Horn.  Yes. 

Bod.  Is  it  she  whom  I  love  ? 

Horn.  Her  name  is  Catherii  e  Bragadine,  wife  of  Angclo 
ilalipieri,  chief  magistrate  of  Padua. 

Bod.  Is  it  possible  ? — Catherine  Bragadine  the  wife  of 
the  Podesta ! 

Horn.  If  you  are  afraid,  there  is  yet  time  to  retreat.— 
Look,  the  door  is  o])en. 

Bod.  1  fear  not  for  myself — no  I — But  for  her — [Placing 
his  handon  hissuvrd,  as  if  about  to  draw  /?.] — this  is  endan- 
gering;: her !     Who  are  you  ? — how  can  1  answer  for  you? 

Hor,i.  How  can  you  answer  for  mc  ?. — IM  tell  you,  since 
you  will  have  it.  Eights  nights  ago,  at  one  hour  past  mid- 
night, you  were  pas  ing  the  piazza  of  Saint  Prodocini, 
alone — you  heard  the  noise  of  .-.words  and  cries  of  distress, 
behind  the  church  ;  you  ran  to  yield  assistance 

Bod.  Yes  ;  and  I  put  to  flight  three  assassins  who  were 
attacking  one  man,  who  was  masked 

Horn.  And  he  le  t  you  without  either  thanking  you  or 
leMingvou  his  name — He  had  business  that  nght  that  could 
not  betlelayed. — I  am  that  man. — Will  you  trust  me  now? 


24  AXGKLO,  AND  THB  [acT  II. 

Rod.  Yes — ves — I'll  tru.^t  you.  [R'p'aciny  his  sivoi-d.] 
I  was  afraid  there  mi;^ht  be  treachery  towar  s  hor  ; — hut 
you  have  made  nic  easy.  You  have  done  more  for  mo 
than  I  for  you.  I  could  not  have  lived  much  longer  with- 
out seeing  Catherine. — ■!  saved  only  your  lifj — you  have 
saved  my  heart — you  have  >aved  my  sou'. 

Ho:ii.  Will  yoa  tlien  remain  ? 

Rod.  Will  i  remain  ! — will  I  remain  ; — I  trust  in  you, 
I  tcU  you. — Oh  !  to  see  her  again — but  an  hour — a  mi- 
nute.— Where  is  she  ? 

Ho'ii.  There — in  the  oratory. 

Rod.  Where  shall  I  see  her? 

Horn.  Here. 

Rod.  AYhen? 

Hoin.  Very  shortly. 

Rod.  Oh,  "heaven ! 

Horn.  Attend  to  me. — [Pointing  to  Angela's  chamber.^ 
That  door  leads  to  the  bedroom  of  Aug  lo. — He  is  now 
asleep,  and  no  one  is  awake  in  the  pa'ace  but  the  Lady- 
Catherine  and  ourselves.  As  to  the  way  we  came  in,  I 
cannot  contidc  to  you  a  sec  et  that  must  remain  known  to 
mo  alone.  [Pointing  to  the  window,  and  langhing.^  That 
is  the  only  outlet  which  concerns  you,  as  you  are  the  lover; 
but  I  do  not  advise  you  to  use  it — twenty-four  feet  to  the 

bottom,  and  a  river  after  that. Now  I  will  leave  you. 

[Going 

Rod.  In  a  short  time  you  say  Catherine  will  be  here  ? 

Horn.  Yes. 

Rod.  Will  she  come  alone  ? 

Horn.  Perhaps  not ;  stand  out  of  sight  a  few  minutes. 

Rod.  Where? 

Hoyn.  Behind  the  bed ; — or,  stop — in  the  balcony. — You 
can  then  discover  yourself  when  you  think  proper.  I  think 
1  heard  a  chair  move  in  the  oratory. — My  Lady  Catherine 
comes.  —  It  is  time  for  us  to  separate. — Adieu! 

Rod.  [Xear  th-i  balconij.']  Whoever  you  may  be,  after 
such  a  service  as  this,  everything  I  have  is  at  your  com- 
mand— my  fortune,  and  even  my  life. 

[He  goes  into  thi  balcony,  and.  disapijears. 

Horn.  [Coming  to  the  front.'\  It's  no  longer  your  own 
to  dispose  of,  my  friend. 

[_Music. — Homodei  looks  narrowhj  that  Rodolfo  does 
not  see  him,  and,  taking  a  letter  from  his  bosom^ 
places  it  on  the  table — he  tlien  goes  out  b>j  the  way 
through  which  he  entered — tJie  ivardrobe  turns  upon 
him  as  /te  departg. 


iCENK  I.]  ACrnESS  OP  PADUA.  25 

Enter  CAxriERixE  and  D.vfnk,  by  the  door  o/tfie  Oratory. 

Cafh  Oh,  Dnfiie  !  it  is  all  over. — Still,  if  I  could  only 
sic  p,  I  niicrht  yet  see  him  in  a  dream — it  is  nearly  fiva 
long  weeks  since  I  have  s?en  him — !  shall  never  see  him 
again ;  I'm  shut  up — guarded — imprison'd. — It's  all  over— 
for  to  penetrate  this  chamber  is  death. — -Oh,  I  would  not 
Eee  him  here — here  ! — I  tremble  at  the  thought. — Oh,  Ro- 
dolfo ! — Dafne,  tell  me  the  truth — do  you  think  I  shall 
ever  sec  him  again  ? 

Daf.  (r.)  Nay,  lady 

Caih.  I  am  not  iike  other  women — pleasures,  fetes, 
diversions,  have  no  charms  for  me. — For  seven  years, 
Dafne,  I  have  had  in  my  heart  but  one  thought,  love — but 
one  sentiment,  love — and  but  one  name,  Kodolfo.  Yet 
mercilessly  have  I  been  forced  to  marry  a  man  to  whom  I 
dare  not  even  speak. — Oh,  what  a  Avretchcd  fate  is  mine  ! 

Daf.  Dismiss  these  sad  thoughts,  my  lady. 

Cat/i.  Oh!  the  happy  hours  we  have  passed  together! 
Is  it  guilty  to  speak  thus  ?— Xo,  it  cannot  be. — Ah !  I  see 
my  grief  distresses  you ;  I  do  not  wish  to  give  you  paia ; — 
go — leave  me. 

Do/.  Shall  T,  madame  ? — do  you  not  need  me  ? 

Cath.  No  ;  I  shall  not  require  your  assistance.  Good 
night,  Dafne. 

Daf.  ilay  heaven  watch  over  you,  my  lady. 

l^Exit  Dafne  by  the  Oratory  door,  r, 

Cath.  There  was  a  song  he  used  to  sing — he  would  sing 
it  at  ray  feet,  wi'h  a  voice  so  sweet. — \_Rodolfo  re-appears 
at  doorway  in  flat. '[  Oh!  there  are  moments  when  I  so 
long  to  sec  him  ! 

[Rjdo'fo  advances^  throivs  his  cloak  on  chair  at  back, 
and  kneels  before  her — she  starts,  and  evclaiins — 
You  here  ! — how  came  you  here?  Oh,  heavens! — Ro- 
dolfo,  do  you  know  where  you  arc  ? — Do  you  know  that, 
by  coming  here,  you  have  placed  your  life  in  the  utmost 
jco])ardy. 

Rod.  (l.)  What  care  I?  I  should  die  if  I  did  not  see 
you  !     tiad  I  not  better  die  for  having  seen  you  ? 

Cath.  (r.)  My  life  is  also  in  danger ; — but  I  see  you 
again,  and  what  care  I  for  the  rest ! — One  horn-  with  you — 
and  then  let  the  roof  fall  in,  and  crush  me  if  it  will. 

Rod.  But  heaven  will  protect  us — every  one  is  asleep 
m  the  palace — there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  go  out  aa 
I  came  in. 

Cuth.  How  did  you  get  in  ? 


so  ANGCLO,  AND  THB  [aCT  II. 

Ro'l.  By  tlie  help  of  a  man  whose  life  I  saA'cd — T  will 
exiil;;in  that,  to  you  another  time. — Oh!  Ictus  think  now 
only  of  each  other. 

[Leads  Catlierine  to  a  chaiv,  hHngs  forward  another^ 
and  takes  his  seat  beside  her. 

Cifh.  You  find  me  much  changed,  do  you  not  ?  For 
the  la^t  five  weeks  I  have  done  nothing  but  weep. — And 
you — liow  have  you  passed  the  time  ? — Have  you  been 
sad,  too'? — wh:it  etTect  has  separation  had  upon  you?— 
Tell  me — speak  to  me. 

Rod.  Oh,  Catherine !  to  be  separated  from  you  is  to 
have  a  veil  over  my  heart — it  is  to  be  without  a  lamp  in 
a  dungeon — without  a  stnr  at  night — what  I  have  felt  I 
cannot,  deseribc — of  what  I  have  done,  I  am  ignorant. 

Cath.  And  I  the  same! — Oli !  I  sec  that  though  I  have 
been  a  pri.>oner,  and  you  an  exile,  our  hearts  have  not 
been  separated ! — 1  have  much  to  tell  you — I  have  been 
shut  up  here — not  allowed  to  go  out — I  have  suttcred  so 
much. — But  I  have  no  fear  now — oh,  I'm  so  happy  to  see 
you — tell  me,  will  you  be  able  to  come  again  ? 

Rod.  Yes;  how  could  I  live  without  it  ?    Fear  nothing, 

Cath.  Wo  do  not  die  of  joy,  Rodolpho ;  or  I  should 
die  now  I 

Mod.  Dearest  Catherine ! 

[He  kisses  her  hand — she  turns  her  head,  andperceive$ 
a  letter  on  table. 

Cath.  What  is  this  ? — a  letter!  did  you  send  me  this  letter! 

Rod.  No ;  but  it  probably  belongs  to  the  mau  who  camo 
with  me. 

Cath.  Did  a  man  come  with  you — who? — let  me  read? 
[She  opens  the  letter  hurriedly,  and  reads. \  '  Madame,  the 
minion  who  revels  in  your  love,  has  small  enjoyment  to 
compare  with  his  who  consummates  his  great  revenge.' 

Rod.  IMerciful  heavens !  what  do  you  say  ? 

Cath.  I  know  the  hand — it  is  that  of  a  wretch  who  pre- 
sumed to  love  me, — and  dared  to  tell  me  so. — He  is  a  mau 
called  Ilomodei,  a  spy  of  the  Council  of  Ten. — We  are 
lost — it  is  all  a  snare,  and  we  are  taken  in  it.  [Goes  to 
the  balcony,  and  looks  owf.]  Oh,  heavens  I 

Rod.  What  is  the  matter? 

Cath.  Quick — extinguish  the  lights ! 

Rod.     What  is  it  ?  [Blowing  out  the  lights. 

Cath.  I  saw  a  light  in  the  gallery  appear  and  disappear. 

Rod.  Unfortunate  that  I  am  !— Oh,  Catherine,  1  shall 
lie  the  cause  of  your  destruction! 

Cath.  [Placing  her  ear  agaUut  the  door  at  back,^ 


SCENE  I.]  ACTRESS  OP  PADUA.  27 

Silence  ! — listen — I  think  I  hear  a  noise  in  the  corridor.— 
Yes,  some  one  opens  the  door — I  hear  advancing  loot- 
steps  I — Which  way  did  you  enter? 

Rod.  By  a  concealed  door,  which  that  devil  has  closed 
upon  nie. 

Cath.  What's  to  he  done  ? 

Rod.  This  door? [Tnjing  door,  l. 

Cath.  No — no  ! — it  leads  to  my  hushand's  chainbcr. 

Rod.  ThcAvindow? [Pointinff  to  window,  B. 

Cath.  There  is  a  terr.hle  abyss  beneath. 

Rod.  This  door,  then  ? 

[^Advancing  to  door  of  Orafory. 
Cath.    My   oratory,    whence   there   is   no   outlet — no 
escape. — Still  it  is  the  best— enter,  or  we  ai-e  lost ! 

[_Opens  the  door — Rodolfo  rushes  in,  and  Catherine 
shuts  the  door,  takes  out  the  key,  and  puts  it  in 
her  bosom,  then  goes  to  door  at  back,  and  listens. 
I  hear  nothing  further, — yes — some  one  comes — they 
stop— to  listen,  doubtlessly. — Ah !  I'll  pretend  to  sleep. 
iTItroivs  off  her  upper  garment,  and  gets  on  the  bed.\  Oh, 
heavens  !  how  I  tremble ! 

[She  closes  the  bed  curtains,  and  lies  down — after  a 
moment's  pause,  the  door  at  back  is  seen  to  open. 

Enter  Thisbe,  noiselessly,  pale  and  cautious,  xvith  a  lamp 
in  her  hand — advancing  to  table,  she  examines  the  lights 
that  have  been  extinguished,  and  puts  down  her  lam}). 

Thi£»  The  lamps  still  smoke !  [Turns,  and  sees  the  bed — . 
runs  to  it,  and  draws  the  curtains.]  She  is  alone,  and  pre- 
tends to  be  asleep.  [Goes  round  the  room,  and  exa.minea 
all  the  doors.^  This  is  her  husband's  door.  [Puts  tlie  back 
of  her  hand  against  the  Oratory  door.'\  There  is  a  door  here. 

Cath.  [Sits  up  in  bed,  and  looks  at  her  with  astonishment.'\ 
Who  is  there  ?     Who  are  you  ? 

This.  [Turning,  andlookivg  intently  at  Catheine.~\  WTio 
is  there  I — Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you. — It  is  the  actress 
of  Padua — she  whom  Angelo  would  give  heaven  and  earth 
to  make  his  mistress,  who  now  confronts  the  wife  ot 
Angelo. 

Cath.  Heavens !  [Leaves  the  bed. 

This.  Who  am  I,  indeed,  madame  ?  I  am  she  who 
holds  under  her  grasp,  I  tell  you,  a  great  lady — a  married 
lady — a  lady  with  bright  and  reverenced  reputation — and 
I  will  not  easil>  leave  my  hold  of  her,  that  she  may  be 
assured !  It  had  been  hotter  for  her  that  the  thunderbolt 
had  fallen  on  her  bead,  than  that  my  look  had  fallen  upon 
c2 


28  ANGELO,  AND  THE  [aCT  II. 

her  countenance  ! — Now,  madame,  tell  me — are  you  not 
liavdcncd  th;it  you  dai  c  to  raiseyour  eyes  on  me — knowing 
you  liavc  a  man  concealed  here. 

C'lith.  Madame!  \  Both  come  forward. 

Thin.  [^Advancinfi  to  the  chairs,  and  touching  the  Imnps.'] 
j\li,  dare  not  to  deny  it, — he  was  here — your  places  aie 
still  marked  by  the  chairs — the  lamps  on  the  table  are 
yet  warm ! — Now,  by  heaven !  false  woman,  you  arc  not 
better  than  the  painted  courtezan — you  arc  not  so  good — 
she  deceives  no  one;  you  deceive  all  the  world  ;  you  de- 
ceive your  family  !— you  deceive  youi'  husband  ! — ^you 
would  deceive  heaven ! 

Cnth.  ( ),  mercy  !  madame ! 

This.  [Tmpetiiousli/.J  Where  is  he? 

Cath.  Who? 

This.  He! 

Cath.  I  am  alone  here — I  do  not  know  yon — but  your 
words  freeze  me. — I  know  nothing  I  have  done  against  you. 

This.  Where's  that  man  ? — I  will  see  him  ! 

Cath.  What  will  become  of  me  ? — you  are  deceived  as 
regards  me. — I  live  retired — isolated — concealed  from  all 
eyes. 

This.  Are  you  mad  to  .<!pcak  to  me  thus,  while  your 
manner  is  palpably  that  of  the  trembling  culprit  ?  Come, 
draw  yourself  up  in  simulated  indignation — put  yourself 
in  a  jmssion,  if  you  dare — that  is  the  way  to  act  the  inno- 
cent woman.  \ Crosses  towards  n.  v.  ^. — Site  j)erceives  the 
cloak,  and  snatches  it  T<p.]  Oh !  it's  too  late  now — here  is 
his  cloak  I 

Cath.  Heavens ! 

This.  [Tauntinffli/.']  No — it's  not  a  cloak — is  it?  not  a 

man's  cloak? — there  is  no  saving  exactly  who's  it  is 

[Pointing  to  door  of  Oratori/.^  That  is  ^  our  oi'atorj",  you 
eav. — Well,  open  it  for  me. 

'Guh.  Why? 

This.  [^Laconical/i/.l  I  wish  to  pray — as  you  pray  ;— 
©pen  it. 

Cath.  I  have  not  the  key. 

Thi.".  [FierceJi/.']  Open  it. 

Cath.  I  don't  know  where  the  key  is. 

This.  Perhaps  your  husband  has  It — [Ca?fo.J  Angelo— 
Angelo — Angelo  ! — 

l^Runs  to  the  door  at  front,  t. — Catherine  throws  her^ 
self  before  it,  and  keeps  her  hack. 

Cath.  Not  this  door — no — you  must  not — I  have  dono 
nothing  to  you;  have  pity  on  mc — stop  but  a  moment— 


SCENE  1.]  "ACTRESS  OF  PADUA.  29 

I  will  explain — I  have  been  so  confused — so  frightened— 
and  then  your  words — but  you'll  have  pity — you  look  too 
-  kind  to  be  wicked. — I  tell  you  he  is  a  wretch  who  has 
done  this — a  spy  ;  do  not  wake  my  husband  ;  ho  would 
kill  nic — I  am  not  guilty — I  have  perhaps  been  impi  udcnt, 
but  I  have  no  friends — no  mother  to  counsel  and  protect 
me. — Pity  mc  ;  go  not  to  that  door — I  implore  you — I 
entreat  von. 

Tins.  I'll  hear  no  more — Angelo! — Angclo!  [Crosses,  l. 
Cath.  Stay,  ibr  heaven's  sake ! — grant  me  an  instant — . 
only  an  instant  to  say  my  prayers— I  will  not  quit  this 
spot — I  will  kneel  down  here — [Pointing  to  the  dressing- 
glass,  on  which  the  crucifix  is  suspended.} — before  this 
crucifix.  [Thisbe  turns,  and  is  instantly  transfixed  ivith 
astonishment,  on  recognising  the  crucifi,x.\  Stop,  for  mercy's 
sake — pray  at  my  side,  will  you?  and  then,  if  you  can, 
take  my  life  ! — 

This.  \Rushing  to  the  table,  and  snatching  up  the  cruci- 
fix.'] What  crucifix  is  this? — Tell  me,  where  did  it  come 
from  ? — where  did  you  get  it  ? — who  gave  it  you  ? 

Cath.  Do  not  disturb  me  with  idle  questions  at  such  a 
time  as  this. 

Tliis.  How  came  it  in  to  your  possession? — speak  quickly 
\^Takes  it  to  the  lamp  at  table,  and  examines  if. 
Cath.  [Folloxmng  her.~\  I  had  it  from  a  woman.  I  did 
not  know  her  ;  but  her  name  is  on  it — Thisbe,  I  think — 
she  was  a  poor  creature  they  were  going  to  kill — I  begged 
her  life — it  was  my  father  who  had  condemedhar,  and  he 
granted  it.  I  was  but  a  child  then,  but  the  woman  insisted 
on  giving  me  that  crucifix— she  said  that  at  some  period 
it  would  do  me  service. — But  why  these  questions  ? — Oh, 
I  am  faint ! 

••     This.  [Aside,  with  great  emotion.']  Heavens!  my  mother. 
\She  buries  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  recedes  to  back 
'  of  stage — The  door  leading  to  Angela's  apartment 

opens,  and  he  appears  in  his  dressing-gown. 
Cath.  J  Coming  to  the  front.']  My  husband! — I  am  lost! 
Ang.  [Without  seeing  Thisbe,  who  remains  near  the  bal~ 
cony.]  What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  madame  ?    I  thought 
I  heard  a  noiso  in  \  our  apartment. 
Cath.  Sir !       _    " 
Ang.  How  is  it  you  are  not  asleep  at  this  hour? 

Cath.  [Hesitatingly.]  It  is — that 

Ang.  Madame,  you  are  trembling — there  is  some  one 
with  you. 

This.  [Advancing,  c]  Yes,  ^'\r — it  is  I    ■  . 
e3 


00  ANGKLO,  AND  THK  [jlCT  U. 

Anff.  You,  ThJsbe ! 

T/iis   Yes— Thisbc. 

A»(/.  What  brings  you  out  at  so  late  an  hour  of  tho 
Hi,.)!!  ? — liow  is  it  you  are  here? — and  Madame 

I'hia.  Why  is  she  trembling,  you  would  ask  ? — I  -will 
tcU  you. — Listen — it  most  deeply  concei'ns  you. 

Cath.  (r.)  l^Aside,  in  agony.J  Now  all  is  over ! 

This.  You  were  to  have  been  assassinated  to-morrow 
morning. 

Aii^q.  I ? 

Cciih.  In  passing  from  your  palace  to  mine,  you  gene- 
rally go  alone  ;  you  were  to  be  waylaid  and  stabbed  ;  I 
received  an  intimation  of  it  this  very  niglit,  and  I  came 
in  haste  to  warn  your  lady  against  letting  you  go  out  to- 
morrow— that  is  why  I  am  here  so  late — that  is  why  your 
lady  is  trembling. 

Cath.  l^Aside.^  Great  heaven  !  who  can  this  woman  be  ? 

Anff.  is  it  possible  ? — Well — I'm  not  surprised — you  see 

1  spoiic  the  truth  when  I  told  you  of  the  dangers  that 
encircle  me — but  how  did  you  get  tliis  warning  ? 

This.  From  an  unl^nown  man,  who  made  me,  before  he 
woukl  divulge  liis  secret,  promise  I  would  allow  liim  to 
escape — I  have  kept  my  promise. 

Auff.  You  have  done  wrong — you  were  right  to  promise, 
but  you  should  have  afterwards  arrested  him. — How  did 
you  get  into  the  palace  ? 

This.  Tlic  man  I  have  spoken  of  found  means  to  open 
a  small  door  near  the  bridge  Molino. 

A)i(j.  How  did  you  penetrate  thus  far  ? 

2'Ais.  With  that  key  which  you  gave  me  yourself. 

Anff.  I  don't  think  I  told  you  it  opened  the  door  of  thia 
room. 

2V(/5.  Yes,  indeed  you  did ; — you  must  have  forgotten  it. 

A)iff.  [^Perceiving  the  cloak.']  What  cloak  is  that? 

I'his.  [Fumed,  but  quickly  recovering  herself.]  It  is  a 
cloak  the  man  lent  me,  to  facilitate  my  passing  the  outer 
gates  of  the  palace. — I  had  also  a  hat,  but  1  don't  know 
wliat  I've  done  witli  it. 

Am/.  What  a  life  is  mine  ! — ever  surrounded  by  dan- 
ger.— But  tell  me,  Thisbe 

This.  Oil,  put  off  all  questions  till  to-movrow,  I  entreat — 
your  life  is  saved  for  to-night — you  ought  to  be  satisfied— 
you  liavc  only  now  to  thank  your  lady  and  me. 

Anff.  Pardon,  Thisbc. 

IViis.  My  conveyance  is  waiting  for  mc  below — ^you  will 
escort  mc — Ivt  us  leave  ^ladamc  to  her  repose 


6CENE  5.]  AcrrnESS  OV  PADtTA.  31 

A  ng.  I  am  at  your  service  ^  but  fii-st  I  must  go  to  my 
room  for  my  sword — it  is  necessary  I  sliouid  arm  myselt 

\^E,vlt  at  door,  b, 
T/iis.  l^Takes  Catherine ■a^vfl<i:'\  Let  him  escape — quick — • 
by  the  way  1  came — there's  tlic  cioak — \^Poi»tiii^  to  it,  and 
placing  i/i-e  small  ketj  in  Catluiroie's  hand.  \ — and  there's 
the  key,  \C<tthenne</oestoi>MrdsOratori^.^  Oil!  that  door— 
oh !  what  I  suffer — but  i  don't  know  yet  to  a  certainty 
that  it  is  he. 

Ang.  [Retxirmng  through  doorxvay,  l.,  crossing  over  to  r., 
€Vid  addressing  ThisieJ]  Madame,  I'm  waiting  for  you. 
[Music. — Angdo  takes  Thisbe  by  the  hand,  and  leads 
h<:r  off  through  balcony — -Cat /serine /alls  on,  lier 
kne«s,  as  the  Curtain  falls. 

END  OF  ACT    II. 


ACT  III. 

SCENE  1.— Catherine's  Chamber  (as  before)~The  Cur- 

taijis  of  the  Canopy  that  encircle  tlie  Bed  closely  drawn. 

Enter  Angelo,  and  two  Priests,  at  d.  f. 

Ang.  (c.)  \^To\st  Priest. 1  You,  sir,  chief  of  the  convent 
of  Saint  Antony,  cause  tlic  nave,  the  choir,  and  the  altar 
of  your  chapel  to  be  hung  with  black  — In  two  hours — 
mark  me,  in  two  liours — you  will  perform  the  funeral 
service  for  the  soul  of  an  illustrious  personage,  who  will 
require  tlie  ritual  at  that  time ;  you  will  light  three  hundred 
torches  of  l)lack  wax,  as  you  do  at  tlie  obsequies  of  queens  ; 
you  will  place  on  the  black  draperies  no  other  ornaments 
but  the  arms  of  Malipieri  and  tliose  of  Bragadine. 

\st  Prie.-!t.  Your  orders  shall  be  attended  to.      [^Going. 

Ang.  Stay — you  will  descend  immediately,  with  all  your 
clergy,  the  cross  and  banner  at  your  head,  into  the  vault 
of  the  Ducal  Palace,  where  the  tombs  are  situated.  One 
of  them  has  been  opencil — a  grave  has  been  dug — you 
will  consecrate  that  grave.  Lose  no  time. — You  will 
also  pray  for  me. 

lit  Priest.  Is  it  any  of  your  family,  sire,  that  is  dead  ? 

Aug.  Go.  \_The  Priest  bows  low,  and  e.vit  at  u.  f. — Tlie 
other  Priest  is  following — Angelo  stops  hiin.^  You,  sir, 
remain  ; — tlicre  is  in  that  oratory  a  person  who  wishes  to 
confess  to  you. 

2ud  Priest.  A  condemned  man,  signor  ? 


S2  ANGELO,  AND  THE  [acT  IIU 

Ang.  A  woman. 

2nd  Priest.  Must  I  picpnrc  her  for  death? 

Aiiff.  Yes  ;  I  will  my.'-elf  lead  j'ou  to  licr. 

Enter  Officer,  from  door  at  back. 
Offi.  Your  Excellency  ordered  the  attendance  of  the 
lady  Thi.sbe ; — she  is  here.  ( Exit,  l.  u.  f. — Angela  opens 
the  Oratory,  n.,  and  motions  ilie  Priest  to  enter — stopj/mg 
him  at  the  doorway.^  llcmcmher,  sir — on  your  life,  when 
you  depart  hence,  take  care  never  to  divulge  the  name  of 
the  woman  yon  are  about  to  see. 

\^Angelo  and  Priest  enter  Oratory — door  in  fiat  opens. 

Re-enter  Officer,  conducting  Thisbe,  d.  f. 

This.  \_To  Officer. \  Do  you  know  who  wants  me? 

Offi.  Mo,  nradame.  [A'r?Y,  l. d. f. 

Ikis.  Oh !  this  room — and  that  door ;  it  affects  mo 
strangely  to  sec  that  door  again — he  was  behind  that 
door. — Am  I  sure  tliat  it  was  he  ?  Oh  !  if  I  were  sure 
Kodolfo  was  the  lover,  i  would  destroy  him.  \^Pau!iing.\ 
JS'o — I  would  kill  myself — yes;  when  I  am  once  ceriuin 
that  Kodolfo  loves  another,  I  shall  have  nothing  left  to 
live  for — yes,  I  will  die! — but,  without  revenge! — and 
■why  not  ? — Kodoli'o — Catherine — if  it  be  he,  what  shall  1 
do  ! — Oh !  wliat  shall  1  do  V — which  of  us  shall  die — they, 
or  I  r 

Re-enter  Ancklo,  from  Oratory. 

You  have  sent  tor  me,  I  believe  ? 

Ang.  Yes,  Tliisbe ;  1  have  something  of  the  greatest 
importance  to  say  to  you  ; — I  told  you  that  every  day  of 
my  lite  I  was  in  tlanger,  and  that  treason  chilly  renders 
it  necessary  for  me  to  sti'iko  at  others,  in  order  to  a\  ert 
the  jjoiut  of  the  dagger  from  my  own  bosom. —  My  most 
private  chambers  are  no  sanctuary  from  treason  ! — lu  one 
word,  my  wife  is  false — she  has  a  lover. 

This.  \_Eagerly.\  What  is  his  name  V 

Aug  lie  is  the  same  that  was  with  her,  the  night  we 
Wert  HI  her  chamber. 

This.  His  name? 

Ang.  I'll  tell  you. — I  found  it  out  through  a  man — a 
spy  ut  the  Council  of  Ten,  who  was  found  stabl)ed,  this  morn- 
ing, by  the  river's  side— two  of  the  night-watch  picked  him 
up, —  but  whether  it  was  a  duel  or  a  i)lann(id  thing,  no  one 
knows  ;  he  pronounced  Init  a  tew  words,  and  died. — At 
the  moment  of  his  being  struck,  he  had,  however,  the  pre- 
sence of  mind,  to  keep  in  his  possession  a  letter,  which  he 


BCKNE  I.]  ACTRESS  OF  PADUA.  8S 

l'"fl  doubtless  intercepted,  and  which  Avas  hrought  to  me 
,  In-  the  man  who  found  him  ;  it  was  a  letter  written  to  my 
wife,  liy  her  lover. 

T/tis.  What  is  his  name  ? 

Anr/.  The  letter  had  no  signature. — You  ask  me  tho 
lovei''s  name — that  is  what  I  cannot  discover. — The  man 
who  was  assassinated  mentioned  it  to  the  nij>ht-wateh, 
but  the  fools  have  forgotten  it — at  any  rate,  they  cannot 
agree  as  to  what  it  is  ; — one  says  Koderigo — the  other 
Eandolfo. 

TMi;.  And  the  letter — have  j'ou  got  it  ? 

Aiiff.  [Feeling  in,  his  breast.^  I  have ! — ^jou  may  know 
ilic  writing. 

This.  Give  it  me. 

Auff.  [Holding/  the  letter  in  his  hand.']  I  thought  no  man 
could  dare  to  raise  his  eyes  towards  tlie  wife  of  a  Mali- 
pieri. — Yet  some  one  has  dared  to  stain  tlic  golden  book 
of  Venice  in  its  fairest  page,  the  page  whereon  nw  name 
•was  written — the  name  of  Malipicri. — There  is  a  man 
has  been  into  this  cliamber — perhaps  has  walked  where  I 
now  stand — the  wretch  lias  written  this  letter,  and  I  can- 
not seize  him — I  cannot  have  his  blood !  Oh  !  if  I  could 
but  learn  who  v/rote  this  letter,  I  would  give  the  sword 
of  my  father,  ten  years  of  my  life,  and  this  good  name, 
to  be  revenged.  [Crosses,  b. 

Thie.  But  show  me  the  letter. 

Anff.  [Letting  her  take  it.\  There  it  is. 

Tliis.  [Looking  at  it.']  It  is  Rodolfo !  [^Aside. 

Ang.  Do  you  know  the  writing? 

This.  Let  me  read  it.  [Reads.]  "My  beloved  Catherine 
you  see  that  lieaven  protects  us — nothing  but  a  miracle 
saved  us  last  night,  from  your  husband  and  that  woman." 
That  Avoman  1 — [Conl.inues.]  "  Catlierinc,  I  love  you ;  you 
are  tlie  only  woman  I  ever  loved. — Fear  not  for  me — I  am 
in  safety." 

Ang.  Well— do  you  know  the  writing? 

This.  [Returning  letter.]  I  cannot  say  who  who  wrote 
it,  sir.  [Witli  assumed  calmness. 

This.  You  do  not  know?  Avhat  think  yon  of  it? — It  is 
probably  (vcv:  <ine  who  has  recently  arrived  in  Padiin. — 
It  is  tlie  hir.guagc  of  a  former  lover. — AVhat  do  you  advise 
nie,  Tliisbe  ? 

2'his.  I  know  not  what  to  advise. 

Ang.  I  liave  givci-.  orders  that  no  one  shall  enter  the  palace 
to-day,  liiu  yoii'..-.cirand  your  brother. — All  others  arc  to 
be  arrested,  ^m^  'jrought  before  mc. — I  shall  interrogate 


34  A>GELO,  AND  nrB  lAC.T  in. 

thcrii  s'mi^ly,  face  to  face. — Part  of  my  vengeance  I  liav© 
alroiiily  secured. 

This.  What  is  it? 

A»i/.  The  dciUli  of  my  wife. 

T/i'it:  Yom-  wife? 

Aiifj.  All  is  ready — witliin  at?  hour  Catherine  Bragadine 
trill  lie  Dcheadcd,  as  she  deserves. 

T/ii.^.  Ik'iK'iulcd  y 

jiii;/.  In  this  ehainhcr, 

T/iin.  Ill  this  chamber? 

Aruf.  Listen. — Her  l>cd  shall  be  changed  irito  her  tomb; 
I  have  decided — I  liavc  decided  too  eooUy  for  any  one  to 
interfere  with  my  resnlvo — no  prayer  could  e.Ktinguish 
my  rage. — My  better  feelings,  if  weak  heartedness  can 
be.  called  a  Iwtter  feeling,  have  interceded  i\>v  her,  but  I 
have  cast  th(>ia  aside. — Thisbe  !  1  liate  this  woman,  and 
married  her  but  for  her  -vvealth. — Yet  I  would  not  harm 
)ier,  but  that  she  la  guilty. — .Slic  must  die :  it  is  a  necessity, 
a  resolution  taken,  anil  she  must  die. 

T/iis.  Docs  the  goveniment  of  Venice  permit  yon  to  do 
this  V 

Aih/.  I  am  all  powerful  to  punish,  though  not  to  pardon. 

This.  But  your  wife's  family ? 

Anr/.  AVill  thank  me. 

This.  Your  resolution  is  taken,  yon  say  ?  She  must 
die !  l^A/ter  a  pattse,  jyassed  in  meditatiov.']  Well,  I 
approve  ;  but,  since  all  is  yet  secret — since  no  name  has 
been  pronounced,  yon  would  no't  stain  the  palace  with 
blood,  or  make  tlic  affair  public. — The  executioner  is  a 
■witness — a  witness  is  dangerous.  Would  it  not  be  better 
to  give  her  prison  ? 

Aug.  You  are  right,  poison  would  be  better — but  it  must 
be-  sure  and  quick — and  I  have  no  poisoiu 

T/,/.--.  15nt  1  have. 

Ati<).  \\'iiercV  what  poison  ? 

Tltia.  In  the  bc\x  sent  nie  by  the  Primate  of  St.  Mart. 

An[i.  Oh,  ye.'r;  you  told  me  so. — It  is  a  sure  and  quick 
poison — well,  you're  right — I'm  glad  you  tiionght  of  it  f 
it  is  much  better. — Listen,  Tiiisbe  ; — I  have  every  confi- 
dence in  you — you  un<lerstand  that  what  I  an>  now  eom- 
])ellcd  to  do  is  j\isiilible  \  I  do  but  avenge  my  honour.— 
Will  vou  .aid  me  'i 

Thl<.  Yes. 

Avri.  Her  grave  is  dug — a  service  is  about  to  be  )icr- 
formed — but  no  one  knows  for  whom — I  will  have  the 
body  conveyed  away  in  secret^  by  my  emissaries —  Q,ack, 
tJu:  peisou. 


eCENE  l]  ACCRESS  OF  PADUA.  35 

Thig.  No  one  but  myself  knows  where  it  is ; — I  will 
myself  fetch  it. 

Auff.  Go — I  will  wait  for  you. 

[Eicit  Tliisbe,  d.  f. — The  Oratory  door  opens — TJi« 
Priest  comes  out  tuith  downcast  eyes,  his  arms 
crossed  on  his  breast — he  traverses  the  room  sloivly 
—as  he  is  going  out  at  the  door  at  the  end,  An- 
gela stops  him. 
Is  slie  ready  ? 

2nd  Priest.  [Sighing,  and  bowing  in  apparent  awe  and 
horror.'\  Yes,  signer. 

\Exit  Priest,  l.u.e. — Catherine  appears  at  Oratory  door. 

Enter  Cathebinb. 

Cath.  Ready  for  what  ? 

Ang.  To  die. 

Cath.  Die!  Is  it,  then,  true? — can  it  be  possible? — 
Oil,  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  believe  it. — To  die  ! — No ! 
I  am  not  ready. 

Ang.  Does  your  courage  fail  you,  madamc  ? 

Cath.  To  die  thus  suddenly  !  but  I  have  done  nothing 
to  merit  death. — Grant  me  but  a  day — no,  not  a  day — for 
I  feel  I  should  not  have  more  courage  to-morrow. — Spare 
my  life — immui-e  me  in  a  convent — but,  oh !  spare  my  life  ! 

Ang.  I  can  spare  it,  as  I  have  already  told  you,on  one 
condition. 

Cath.  What  ? — I  do  not  remember. 

Ang.  Who  wrote  that  letter  ?  Tell  me — name  the 
man — yield  him  to  my  vengeance.  [Showitig  letter 

Cath.  [Wringing  her  hands.Jj  Oh,  heavens  ! 

Ang.  If  you  deliver  him  up,  you  shall  live — the  scaffold 
for  him,  and  the  convent  for  you. — I  wish  to  be  merciful 
to  you,  madame. 

Enter  Thisbe,  k.  d.  f. 

Cath.  [Aside.\  What  woman  is  that  ?     'Tis  the  one  of 
last  night. 
Ang.  Have  you  reflected,  madamc  ? 
Cath.  Yes,  signor. 

Ang.  Have  you  decided  to  deliver  him  up? 
C'tth.  I  liavc  not  for  a  moment  thought  of  it. 
This.  [Aside.]  You  are  a  good  and  courageous  woman ! 
[Angela  makes  a  sign  to  Thisbe,  ivho  gives  him  a  vi<U 
^-  of  silver — he  places  it  on  the  table, 

Ang.  Then  you  will  drink  this  ? 
.CfUA.  'Tis  poisoo  I 


S6  ANGELO,  AND  THE-  [iCT  III. 

Auff.  Yes,  niadamc. 

C</c/(.  Great  Heaven  !  you  will  one  day  jndgc  this 
man  V — I  ask  pardon  lor  him.— [To  Thisbe.']  You  arc  a 
wrctfh  ! — yon  conic  coldly  with  poison  in  your  IihikIs.^ 
[^To  Anrjelo.^  I,  guilty? — no,  I  am  not ; — but  I  will  not 
condescend  to  justify  myself. — Yon  married  me  for  my 
money — bceausc  1  was  rich — and  how  have  I  passed  my 
life  with  you  these  five  years  V — Yon  never  loved  me,  but 
yet  were  jealous — you  have  iniprison'd  mc — you  havty 
had  your  mistresses — that  is  allowed  you — every  thing 
is  allowed  to  man  ! — You  liavc  been  always  harsh  to  me, 
uever  even  greeting  mc  with  a  kind  word. — Yes,  sir — I 
confess  I  loved,  before  I  knew  you,  a  man  whom  I  stiil 
love — you  will  kill  me  for  that — you  arc  fortunate  in 
liaving  a  letter — a  scrap  of  paper  for  a  pretext. — You 
judge  me,  you  condemn  me,  and  you  execute  me,  in  the 
dark — in  secret — by  poison. — You  have  the  power ; — but 
it  is  the  act  of  a  coward. 

Aty/.  Have  a  care 

Oxth.  [To  Thixbe.]  And  you — who  are  yon  ? — you  aio 
interested  in  destroying  me ;  you  have  been  a  spy  upon 
mc  ;  you  think  you  have  taken  me  in  the  fault,  and  yoir 
place  your  foot  upon  my  head. — You  assist  my  husband 
in  this  abominable  act. — Why  arc  you  here? — To  exult 
over  my  destruction  ? 

A»fj.  \^Sei::i)ig  her  arm,  and  offering  the  poison^  Come, 
madame,  no  more  delay. 

Cath.  Well,  I  will  do  wliat  you  command  \Puts  her 
hand  towards  the  botile.l^  since  it  must  be  so.  [^Recoila.^ 
Ko,  it  is  too  horrible- — 1  will  not — I  cannot. — Think  of  it 
once  more,  while  there  is  yet  time — ^you  that  are  all 
powerful — reflect — a  woman — alone,  aliandoned,  weak^ 
defenceless — no  parent — no  family — no  friend — no  help;— 
to  assassinate  her — to  poison  her,  miserably,  in  a  corner 
of  her  house !— My  mother !  my  motlier !  my  mother ! 

This,  (l.)  Poor  woman  ! 

Cath.  (c.)  'Poorwoman'— you  then  do  pity  me,  madame? 
Oh,  yes ;  allow  yourself  to  relent — let  me  explain  to  you — 
tell  you  all. — You  will  speak  to  my  husband  afterwards — . 
you  will  tell  him  how  horrible  is  the  thing  he  would  do.— 
As  for  me,  it  is  natural  for  me  to  say  so ;  but  if  you  say 
so  too,  it  will  have  some  effect. — Sometimes,  a  word  from  an 
indifl'ercnt  person  brings  a  anan  back  to  reason. — If  I 
offended  you  just  now,  pardon  me,  madame — I  have  dono 
you  no  harm — no  real  harm. — I  have  ahvays  been  loyal — 
you  undoi stand  mc,  I  sec — but  I  cannot  say  this  to  my 


BCEX2I.]  ACTRESS  OF  PADTTA.  37 

husband — men  will  never  believe  us,  you  know, — Oh, 
madame  !  don't  tell  me  to  have  conmgc,  I  entreat  you^ 
ou.sht  I  to  have  courage  ? — I  am  not  ashamed  to  be  a 
weak  A'oman,  in  need  of  your  pity. 

Ang.  Catherine  Bra!i:adinc,  your  crime  calls  for  punish- 
ment— you  must  die.  [Arjabi  offering  poison.^  Will  you, 
or  will  you  not  take  this,  madame  ? 

Cath.  l^Crossiiig,  r.]  No  ! 

Ang.  No  ! — Then  I  return  to  my  first  intent. — The 
executioner !  the  executioner ! 

V  IRitshes  out  violenthj  by  the  door,  i..  d.  f.,  and  shuts  it. 
-This.  [Advancing  hurnedbj,  taking  Catherine  by  the 
arm,  and  addressing  her  in  an  tinder-tone.  ]  Listen — 
quick  ; — we  have  but  a  moment. — Since  it  is  you  that  he 
loves,  I  must  yield  me  to  my  destiny. — Do  as  you  are 
required,  or  you  are  lost — I  can't  explain  more  fully. — 
But  of  this  be  assured  :  the  vial,  although  so  labelled,  is 
not  poison,  but  merely  a  sleeping-draugl.t.  Take  it,  and 
rely  on  my  after  care  of  you.  Just  now,  the  words  '  poor 
woman !'  escaped  me,  and  you  repeated  them  aloud— such 
folly,  if  repeated,  will  make  the  Podcsta  suspicious  ofmc — 
I  dare  not  say  more. — There  is  in  this  room  one  unhappy 
woman  that  must  die — but  it  is  not  you. — Is  that  sufficient  ? 

Cath.  I  will  do  as  you  desire,  madame. 

This.  That's  well — I  hear  him  returning.  [Thisbe  throws 
herself  be/ore  the  door  at  the  moment  it  is  opened.^  Alone — 
alone — come  in  alone ! — She  is  resigned  to  the  poison. 

Aug.  Then  give  it  to  her. 

^He  places  the  vial  in  the  hand  of  TJiisbe,  who  passes 
it  to  Cathei-ine. 

Cath.  (c.)  [Taking  the  vial — To  Tliisbe.']  I  know  of 
your  intimacy  with  my  husband. — If  your  secret  thought  is 
to  take  my  place,  you  are  wrong  to  envy  it. — This  is  aa 
abominable  act,  and  though  it  is  hard  to  die  at  my  age- 
yet  I  would  rather  do  so  than  change  conditions  with  you. 
[Shedrinks. — Thisbe  gets  round  to  ^.^  Oh!  the  liquid  freezes 
vay  blood.  [Looks  fixedly  on  Angelo.^  Now,  murderer  ! 
are  you  satistied  ? — I  feel  that  I  am  dying — yes — you  are 
my  destroying  devil,  as  I  will  presently  tell  the  Creator 
of  ds  all — I  have  loved,  but  I  have  never  violated  my 
nuptial  vows  ! — I  feel  my  senses  fail  me. — [Thisbe  makes 
an  effort  to  place  a  chair  for  Aer.]  No — not  that  chair- 
do  not  touch  rae.]  She  falters  towards  her  Oratory."]  I  wish 
to  die  upon  my  knees — before  the  altar  there ; — to  die 
alone — in  tranquility.  [Having,  by  this  time,  reached  the 
door,  she  leans  against  the  door-post.^  I  have  lived  ia 
P 


Ha  ANGBLO,  AND  TUB  [aCT  IT. 

polity,  and  I  wish  to  dio  in  prayer ! 

IMtii,  staggervig  into  Oratory,  at  Curtain  faUt, 

END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT  IV. 

SCENE  I. — A  handsomely  furnished  and  carpeted  Apart' 
ntent,  with  Bed  in  Recess  at  back,  screened  from  view  by 
Curtai)is — Door  on  b.  of  Recess — Dressing-table,  n. — 
Hand-mirror  on  do. — Chairs,  Tables,  ^c,  on  which  are 
tcaitered  TIceatrical  Dresses,  Masks,  Manuscripts,  ^'C. 

This.  [Solus,  seated  at  table,  c.J  Oh,  wliat  are  stage 
exhibitions  compared  with  the  rcahtics  of  life  !  Scarcely 
could  Angclo  have  supposed  the  life-blood  of  his  victim — 
his  wedded  wife— to  have  cooled  in  her  veins — or  her  heart 
to  have  perfonned  its  last  vibration,  ere  he  had  ordered 
her  instant,  unattended,  unblessed  burial,  in  agrave  already 
made  in  the  dark  vaults  of  his  unhallowed  habitation  !  — 
Tiiere  she  would  indeed  have  perished,  but  for  the  actress's 
gold  ; — for  two  hundred  sequins,  the  meixenaries  have 
contrived  to  bear  her  hither.  \^Takes  hand-mirror  from 
table — draws  the  curtains,  and  discovers  bed,  on  which 
Catherine  is  laid,  with  the  brass  crucifix  on  her  breast — 
holds  the  mirror  over  her  mouth,  and,  after  examining  it, 
says — ^1  Thank  heaven,  she  breathes !  [Takes  up  crucifix.^ 
Oh !  if  this  crucifix  has  brought  happiness  to  any  one,  that 
«ne  is  not  your  child,  my  mother ! 

[Closes  the  curtains,  comes  forward,  and  lays  tlie  cri*« 
cijix  on  the  table. 

Enter  Page,  b. 

Page.  Tavo  men,  night  watchers,  ask  for  admittance. 
This.  Desire  them  to  come  in.  [Exit  Page,  l.  s.  e. 

Enter  two  Watchers  of  the  Night,  l.  s.  e. 

This.  You  are  sure  that  no  one  saw  you  pass  from  tho 
palace  hither? 

1st  Watcher.  Quite,  Madame.  The  night  is  densely 
dark — the  town  is  deserted — we  have  not  met  a  soul  ou 
our  way.  We  have  put  the  coffin  into  the  grave,  and  havo 
covered  it  with  the  stone,  as  ordered  by  the  Podesta.  Fear 
Dotbiug.     We  know  not  whether  the  voiuaa  be  dead  at 


SCKNR  I.]  ACTHKSS  OF  PADUA.  3^ 

not,  but  it  is  certain  that  Ave  have  made  believe  to  bury 
her,  and  you  can  now  do  as  vou  like  -with  her. 

Thh.  Tliat  is  well !—[ To"  Pa^e.]  Where  is  the  mala 
-attire  I  bade  you  to  have  ready. 

Page.  [Pointing  to  parcl  on  tabh.'\  Tliere,  Madame. 

Tliis.  And  the  two  horses — arc  tlicy  in  readiness  ? 

Page.  They  are  in  the  foreconrt,  saddled  and  bridled. 

This,  f  To  Night  Watcher.]  How  long  does  it  take,  with 
a  good  horse,  to  get  out  of  the  Venetian  states  ? 

1st  Watcher.  According  to  circumstances.  Not  above 
three  liours,  in  fine  weather. 

This.  That  is  sufficient. — Now  go. — Be  silent  about  all 
this,  and  come  to-morrow  morning  to  receive  your  pro- 
mised reward.  [Exeunt  Night  Watchers,  l.  u.  e.]  Now, 
[To  Page.]  go  and  close  the  outer  doors,  and  find  some 
excuse  for  letting  no  one  in. 

Page.  The  Signer  Rodolfo,  Madame — is  he  also  to  be 
excluded  ? 

This.  No,  let  him  pass — no  one  else. — Take  care  that 
not  another  living  being  pass  in  here ;  and,  above  all, 
■when  Rodolfo  has  arrived,  be  you  in  readiness  to  enter 
■when  I  call. — For  the  present,  leave  me.  [Exit  Page,  n.'] 
I  think  it  will  not  be  long  ere  she  awakes. — She  was  loath 
to  die — no  ■wonder — 1  can  now  understand  why :  she  loves, 
and  has  her  love  returned. — My  head  bums — it  is  three 
nights  since  I  have  slept ;  but  to-night  I  ■\vill  sleep.  [Con- 
templates the  stage  dresses  scattered  around.]  Oh  yes,  ■we 
actresses  are  a  happy  race — ■we  arc  so  admired,  so  flat- 
tered. Nightly,  we  have  flowers  cast  at  our  feet — how 
then  can  we  have  hearts  bleeding  within  us ! — Oh,  Ro- 
dolfo, Rodolfo,  to  believe  that  you  loved  me  was  the  one 
idea  on  which  I  existed.  I  have  often  thought  I  should 
like  to  die  near  him — to  die  in  such  a  way  that  he  could 
never  tear  my  remembrance  from  his  soul,  but  that  my 
shadow  should  for  ever  be  at  his  side,  standing  between 
him  and  all  womankind. — To  die  is  nothing — but  awful 
it  is  to  be  forgotten  by  the  one  loved  before  all  the  world! — 
Oh,  Rodolfo,  sec  to  what  I  am  fivUen — sec  what  love  has 
done  for  nie ! 

[Greatli/  agitated — after  a  pause,  sJiestartsas  if  hearing 
footsteps,  and  turns  round. 

Enter  Rodolfo, /ro/?i  door  in  panel  of  flat. 

Is  it  you,  Rodolfo  ? — So  much  the  better. — I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you  — Listen! 

d2 


4(1'  ANGELO,  AND  THE  [ACT  IV. 

Rod.  And  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  i — eo  listen 
you,  Madame 

Thh.  Itodolfo! 

Rod.  Are  you  alone,  Madame  ? 

This.  I  am  alone. 

Rod.  Give  orders  that  no  one  enter. 

This.  I  have  already  done  so. 

Rod.  Let  me  be  sure  that  all  the  doors  are  fast. 

\^Passes  round  and  examines  them. 

This.  \  Anxiously.']  I  wait  for  M'liat  you  have  to  say  tome. 

Rod.  [Advancing  close  to  Thisbe,  and  scrutinizing  her 
face  ivith  ill-svppressed  venffeance.]  Whence  have  youi 
come? — why  are  you  pale? — what  have  you  been  doino;? — 
Tell  me — what  have  those  hands  done  ?  Tell  me — how 
have  you  passed  eaeh  of  the  hours  of  the  last  execrable 
day  ? — Tell  mc — no,  you  need  not  tell  me — I  will  tell 
you. — Don't  answer — don't  denj' — don't  invent — don't 
lie ! — I  know  all — I  know  all,  I  tell  you, — you  shall  see 
that  I  know  all ! — Dafne,  who  was  within  a  few  paces  of 
you,  has  told  me  all.  She  was  separated  from  you  by  one 
door  onl)'. — In  tiie  oratory — she  was  there — at  your  very 
side — she  heard  j'ou — she  saw  you — I'll  tell  you  tlie  very 
words  that  passed.  Angclo  said,  'I  liave  no  poison  ;'  you 
replied,' — '  But  I  have — I  have — I  have  !'  Did  you  not 
say  so  ? — Yes  or  no  ? — Oh  !  you  had  poison,  had  you  !— 
Well,  Madame,  and  I  have  a  dagger  ! 

[^Drawing  a  dagger  from  his  vest* 

This.  Rodolfo ! 

Rod.  You  hare  bttt  a  few  moments  for  preparation, 
Madame ! 

This.  Ah !  you  would  kill  me ! — You  would  kill  me 
without  even  listening  to  me ! — For  the  love  of  another, 
you  would  kill  me  ! — Oh,  Rodolfo,  it  is  then  true — tell  mo 
from  your  own  mouth — you  have  never  loved  me  ? 

Rod.  Never! 

This.  That  word  has  killed  me  ! — your  d  igger  can  but 
shorten  the  pangs  of  dying  ! — But  tell  me,  did  you  love 
her?— 

Rod.  Did  I  love  her  ? — Oh,  she  was  a  being  pure,  chaste, 
and  holy — that  woman  was  my  altar,  my  life,  my  blood, 
my  fondest  thouglit,  my  consolation,  the  light  of  my 
eyes. — Let  that  tell  you  whether  I  loved  her  ! 

This.  Then  I  have  done  well !  ICrossinff,  h. 

Rod.  Done  well ! 

This.  [Returning.']  Yes,  I  have  done  well; — but  yon, 
know  not  what  I  have  donel 


SCENE  I.  ]  ACTHESS  OF  PADTTA.  41 

Rod.  Too  well  I  kjiow ! — Wh  t  Dafne  has  tcild  me  still 
rings  in  my  ears.  There  were  but  three  in  the  chamber- 
she,  her  husban.l,  and  yourself.  For  two  long  hours  you 
kept  her  there,  weeping,  praying,  asking  pardon,  begging 
for  her  life  on  lier  knees ; — but  all  in  vain ! — It  Avas  you — ■ 
Thi.she — who  made  her  drink  the  poison  ! — Angelo  went 
out  to  fetch  the  executioner,  and  you  then  said  to  lier,  in 
a  whisper,  some  terrible  things,  Avhicli  made  her  swallow 
the  deadly  ])otion  ! — Madame,  \^Drawhig  a  handkerchief 
f)-om  his  breast.'\  this  handkerchief,  found  in  Catherine's 
chamber,  is  yours! — and  [Pointing  to  the  crucijix.'\  that 
cinicifix  was  hers ! — I  know  them  both ! — Come — pray, 
weep,  cry,  ask  pardon — do  quickly  what  you  have  to  do. 
This.  Kodollo ! 

Rod.  Say  what  you  have  to  say,  quick — speak  at  once ! 
[^Raising  the  dagger  as  if  to  strike. 
Tliis.  It  is  all  tme ;  and  what  I  have  done  1  would  do 
again  ! — Strike  ! 

l_RodoIfo  is  about  to  strike  her,  but  falters — his  arm 
drops — Thisbe  catches  the  hand  in  luhich  he  has 
the   dagger   and  stabs  herself — Rouolfo   stands 
aghast — Thisbe  staggers  to  a  chair,  and  then  sup- 
ports herself  by  the  back  of  it 
[After  a  2x^86.1  Your  arrival  was  opportune,  for  I  had 
determined  to  die  ! — I  shall  now  die  near  you — at  your 
feet — perhaps  in  your  arms.     At  least,  you  will  hear  my 
last  woi'ds  —you  will  receive  my  last  breath — my  parting 
benediction!     Listen  for  a  moment ; — what  I  have  now 
to  say  are  not  mere  word--,  but  the  overflowing  of  a  bursting 
heart.     As  a  child,  I  was  a  beggar — at  sixteen  years  of 
age,  I  liad  achieved  the  v/orld's  idolatry,  and,  as  a  conse- 
quence, worldly  wealth  was  heaped  upon  me, — yet  stdl 
was  I  poor — I  yearned  after  a  heart  that  could  understand 
me,  an. I  wouldlove  me. — I  thought  I  had  found  it  in  you ! — ■ 
Oh,  Eodolfo,  h»w  much  the  poor  creature  who  now  speaks 
to  you  has  loved  you,  you  will  find,  when  I  am  dead.     I 
have  made  your  look  my  life,  your  smile  my  joy,  your 
breath  my  soul.     I  have  lived  on  the  one  idea  that  you 
loved  me !     All  is  now  explained,  and  1  have  nothing 
left  to  live  for.  [^Slnks  tofl(.>or,  and  appears  to  be  expiring. 
Rod.  [^Calling.]  Help,  help  ! 

Enter  Page,  hurriedly,  l. 

Page.  {Rushing  up  to  Thisbe.^  Ah  me,  who  has  done 
ibis  deed  ? 

This.  I  myself — no  one  else  has  done  it.[^l  bell  is  toUfid 


if 


45!  ANGELO,  AND  THE  [aCT  fV. 

and  continues  to  he  tolled  at  intervals,  till  the  conclusion  oj 
the  di'ama.li  What  means  that  knell  ? 

Far/e.  My  lady,  the  Podesta  is  dead! — That  bell  an- 
nounces tlic  event  to  the  citizens  of  Padua. 

I'/iis.  The  Podesta  dead,  said  you  ? 

Pafle.  Yes,  Madame;  he  has  but  just  be«n  discovered 
dead  in  his  bed.  From  a  vial  found  by  his  bedside,  labelled 
ns  a  sleeping-draught,  it  is  concluded  he  has  drank  the 
contents,  and  that  to  him  they  have  brought  eternal  sleep; — 
for  the  i)hysicians  declare  that  he  has  been  dead  for  some 
hours,  and  that  the  bottle  has  contained  a  most  deadly 
poison  ? 

This.  [^Partially  raising  herself.']  Oli,  horror !  I  see  it 
all.  I  left  the  casket  and  bottles  in  his  room,  and,  in  the 
hope  of  soothinghis  unquiet  mind  with  a  sleeping-draught, 
he  has  taken  the  poison  he  intended  for  his  wife  ! 

{Catherine's  voice  heard  behind  the  curtain  of  recess,  c. 

Ca'h.  Where  am  I?— Rodolfo! 

Rod.  [Startin(/.~]  What  do  I  hear? — what  voice  is  that? 
l^Turns  round  and  sees  the  ivhite  figure  of  Catherine, 
who  enters  through  the  curtains. 

Calh.  Rodolfo! 

Hod.  \Running  to  Jier,  and  bringing  herfbrtvard  in  hit 
arms.}  Catherine!  Great  Heaven,  you  here,  and  alive' 
How  is  this  ? — By  whom  have  you  been  saved  ? 

[^Catherine  points  to  Thisbe. 

This.  By  me — for  you  ! 

Rod.  Oh !  what  have  I  done ! — Help,  help — wretch  that 
I  am ! 

This.  [Faintli/.l  No,  all  help  is  useless — I  feel  it.  Give 
yourselves  up  to  joy  as  if  I  were  not  here — I  do  not  wish 
you  to  lament.  I  deceived  Angclo  by  giving  Catherine 
a  sleeping-draugltt  instead  of  the  poison.  Every  one 
thought  her  dead,  while  she  did  but  sleep,  and  he  who 
thought  but  to  sleep  will  wake  no  more  !  —You  are  now 
both  free — be  happy. 

IShe  makes  an  effort  to  join  their  hands,  but  is  too 
feeble — Catherine  and  Rodolfo  fall  on  their  kneeg, 
fixing  their  eyes  on  the  expiring  Thisbe. 
I  am  dying ! — you  will  sometimes  think  of  mc,  will  you 
not? — You  will  sometimes  bless  my  memory.  Farewell, 
Madame — let  me  once  more  call  him  my  llodolfo — fare- 
well, my  llodolfo  ! — I  die  ! — Live  and  be  happy. 

\_She  expires  as  the  Curtain  slowly  descends  and  thi 
bell  again  tolls. 


THE  ^  »BRARY 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRAPv  ri':".''"' 

ill  nil 

A  A         001  426  829  6 


